Coventry Blues
So now I’m back in Ithaca, trying to rest before the hurricane that is Cornell graduate school begins, and I get this bad news. This makes me very, very sad. The Arabica Coffeehouse at Coventry played an important role in my life, just like many people in this story. And how sadly typical—there’s a chance that it’s going to be replaced by a Starbucks. Now, the funky-cool, restless high school kids hanging outside will probably be replaced by the khakis and SUV set. Homogenization. Good for milk, not for culture.
Public declaration to my wife Rose: If I ever become that kind of real estate developer or property owner, please lock me securely in a small metal box, only providing a small meal of moldy bread and water each day.
In Rochester, cheeseburgers are “cheeseburgs” and hot dogs are “hots.” They have “red” hots (beef) and “white” hots (pork). These are all better than standard-issue Midwestern hot dogs, let me tell you. Citizens of Rochester are called “Rochesterians.” I can never say that right. Funny! It reminds me of an undergraduate college story. A friend and I played a prank on inhabitants of Dunbar Hall at Kent, who called themselves the “Dunbarbarians.” We washed one of the middle B’s off of the window where that name was displayed in giant soap letters. After our modification, the window read “Dunbar Arians.” Ha ha ha ha…
All I’m going to say about the matter is…if you were betting money on a citizen of Rochester breezing through a yellow traffic light, you’d lose. These people are the most law-abiding drivers I’ve ever seen—law-abiding to the point of slavery. They humbly and unquestioningly submit to all traffic laws, great or small. They sit at railroad crossings when the gates are down for hours, rather than check to see if they are malfunctioning. And then…then…they give you scornful looks when, after 20 minutes, you decide to go through the malfunctioning railroad gates. I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining. They’re better than Jersey drivers.
“It seems to me that happiness is not a state, that it's an instantaneous flash, which almost always comes unexpectedly. Yes? The wider the view you have, the more pain you are aware of - and the closer the pain comes, but there are these flashes of illumination.” —John Berger
“Scheissenbedaurn”--the disappointment one feels when exposed to things that are not as bad as originally suspected. I've always wondered if there was a word for that. It's a pity when you experience something and then learn that you can no longer feel quite as morally, culturally, or intellectually superior afterward because you actually kind of enjoyed it. For example, eating at the TGI Friday's. Those chili fries are darn good!
Eccentric Spaces
Now, Mr. Powers had quite an ego. As high-rises in Chicago and Cleveland surpassed the Powers block in height, he would add a story to the building. This occurred three times over the years, giving the building the “wedding cake” effect you see in the upper mansards. Alas, the Powers Block couldn’t compete with newer structural technology, and even with the tower on top, the building was eventually bested by more modern high-rises.
The sequential additions over the years had an interesting effect on the building. Fact: there are nine fully functioning floors in the Powers Building. Now look at the exterior photograph—how many do you see? I’ll give you a hint—what was so special about the office building in the film Being John Malkovich?
Here Is The Correct Answer
For a long time I’ve felt just a little bit guilty about the fact that I criticize people who only like representational art. Usually, these people judge the quality of artwork by how realistically it depicts its subject matter. I’ve also traditionally been very critical of people who value highly sentimental artwork, much of which is popular in mainstream and commercial art venues. The reason I’ve felt guilty is because I’ve thought to myself, “Who am I to judge what someone else prefers?”
I’m tired of apologizing for being judgmental and didactic. No more—I think it’s just fine to be that way. I mean, if you never make any firm value judgments, how do you even know who you are?
This past weekend, Rose, some friends and I visited a very interesting gallery that was assembled inside an old sawmill. Unfortunately, the architecture of the gallery was where the interest ended—every piece of work inside was a detailed rendering of a landscape, a portrait of someone, an automobile, or a street scene. All of the work was fairly well executed, but where was the soul?
Purely representational artwork is often nothing more than an artist showing off—it is a display of technical expertise—it is illustration. I like abstract work better—wait, let me rephrase that—abstract work is better—because it allows for the viewer’s own interpretation of the meaning of the work. It allows, and encourages, the viewer to think. When I look at a portrait or a landscape I think, “Oh, there’s a portrait [or a landscape]. I like the colors. Neat.” And that’s it—end of brain use. When artwork is simply pretty it is not art—it’s craft. Craft has a place, but don’t call it art.
To summarize: Abstract artwork is better than perfectly representational craft. Representational craft pieces can sometimes be redeemed (and actually called art) if they have an interesting narrative or extraordinarily unique style. If you disagree with me, you are wrong, and how do you like that [tongue stuck out]?
Prepare Yourself for Run-On Sentences
Alright…so I’ve learned that everything is a big gray soup (or should I say a wonderful rainbow-colored soup)—that everything relates to everything else…all of the natural world…all matter, energy, thoughts, actions, reactions, etc. are interconnected. Fine. That’s understood.
I’ve also learned that human behavior, and the institutions by which we choose (or not?) to relate ourselves to the world, in the long run, behave as the rest of nature does—by principles of organized chaos (for example the way a tree grows or the way a canyon forms). Cultures, families, economics, trade, finance, mathematics, religion, traffic, technology, etc.
I’ve also learned that there is a manner of existing in the world—of living, of doing business, of creating, of surviving, of sustaining, of nurturing—that reconciles the relationships between the two axioms I just put forth…i.e. the stock market behaves like a river behaves like a traffic jam behaves like salmon swimming upstream behaves like sand dunes behaves like supply and demand behaves like a volcano, etc. Equilibrium (or some would say, entropy) is the ever-elusive goal of all natural systems. And all systems are natural, whether we think they are or not.
I understand all of this. I understand that there is a beautiful ballet that occurs between all of these things. What I do not yet understand is how this stuff will manifest itself in my life. I feel that I am so young and green, that even though I understand all these ideas, I cannot yet utilize them.
When I was growing up, my parents didn’t seem to think about the moral implications of the place they chose to live. In general, there seemed to be little worry about sprawl, traffic congestion, and many of the other urban issues that concern us today.
Oh, wait, I take that back…there was one big one: it was considered wrong to live in the city. In the late 70s and early 80s, growing up in rural/suburban America, the image of the city was that of a dangerous, sinful place. It was full of crime, traffic, congestion, people of a bad influence, and strangers with candy.
Today, many urban protagonists (such as myself) deride the suburbs as being environmentally and socially irresponsible, dysfunctional (à la American Beauty), exclusive, isolated and out of touch. Yes, many of these concerns are justified. But are we being too critical? Are we, the brave young urban pioneers of Middle America, being just as judgmental as the suburbanites were a decade or two ago?
I’ve been out of the driving “scene” for some time now. Now, because of my job this summer, I’m on our country’s fair roads on a regular basis. Here’s the point: I knew that cell phone use was rampant, but I didn’t understand just how rampant. Even in a relatively small city like Rochester, every every everyone in an automobile is gabbing away. It really frightens me. Of course, New York’s Gov. Pataki will likely sign the law banning hand-held cell phone use while driving soon. Oh, my, what will they all do? Also, I feel that I must disclose that I too have had a cell phone bestowed upon me by my employer. I promise, I only use it a piedi.
A few thoughts:
- From what I’ve heard so far, the latest Hooverphonic album sounds good good good.
- On Route 31F in Rochester, there’s a run-down looking gas station on the south side of the road. This particular run-down gas station also sells live Maine lobster and fine cuts of black angus beef. Interesting.
- Here’s one of the things I hate about myself: I’ll make some sort of simple realization that’s common sense to most people, like “don’t drive in the left lane if there are no left turn lanes on this road,” and treat it like an epiphany, telling everyone I know. Sometimes I think that I’m not the sharpest tack in the box.
A Bit More on the Point of Nostalgia
Little moments of beauty, I must photograph them all.
You see, once you find something good, you want to capture it and relive it—replay it like a good song. But the whole point of the thing is that you can’t do that because those moments come when they will and you must be open to them, otherwise you will miss them. They come when they will and you can’t make them come and you can’t replay them, only remember them. That’s why a great song doesn’t give you the same feeling every time—in fact it wears out after a while.
Great moments of emotional clarity and awakening only come when you’re not looking, and your mind and heart are open.
This all leads to the point of why nostalgia is so dangerous. People are looking to relive their past precious moments by recreating the past. By doing this, they are closing their minds and their hearts to the present and missing the wonder of the now.
In Rochester, the speed limit is really the speed limit. The kind, courteous drivers here treat it as the maximum speed at which they are allowed to motor around--they do not violate it. I've never seen this before in my life. And while this experience so far has been somewhat of a respite from my usual encounters with crazed Eastern New York and New Jersey drivers (the worst), it's starting to DRIVE ME A BIT CRAZY! SPEED UP YOU PEOPLE!
Spot Coffee, here in Rochester, is a very large, well-executed (design, service, quality of food & beverage) coffeehouse. It reminds me of some of the original coffeehouses I visited in Budapest about seven years ago: enormous, elegant, open rooms with a bar in the center, serving a wonderfully diverse group of clientele. Students, professionals, the elite, the poor, the misfits, the gypsies, they were all there. This one’s a bit funkier (and a bit more yuppie-dominated) than those traditional coffeehouses (it’s built inside an old Chevrolet showroom), but it revives the essence.
Did you ever see the Dr. Katz episode when the patient is talking about the Rocket Pack? And how that if you had a Rocket Pack, it would be the last thing you thought about at the end of the day, and the first thing you thought about when you woke up in the morning? Rocketpack-rocketpack-ROCKETPACK! Well, driving a convertible is kind of like that feeling. I’ve never owned a convertible, but now that I’ve had a chance to drive one on a regular basis, I think I’m ruined for life. The best is when you drive under things—trees, bridges, stars…I mean, they’re right there man! Pure joy.
Rochester is quite a nice city in many ways. It is the second major “second tier” city in which I've had the pleasure of residing (Cleveland was the first). Rochester is approximately one-third the size of Cleveland. Its outlying small towns have not yet evolved into edge cities, but they’re on their way. Although these towns have, to date, maintained much of their urban integrity, their popularity as bedroom communities is causing a significant amount of traffic congestion.
Six o’clock on a Tuesday evening, and cars are backed up one-quarter of a mile atop the lift bridge crossing the old Erie Canal.
Ghost Dog is another quiet gem by Jim Jarmusch. It’s good to know that a director can move on after a dud like Night on Earth. My all-time favorite is still Down by Law.
I used to hate running the vacuum cleaner when I was a kid. Then I started imagining that the whole process was just one big game of Qix, and then I didn’t mind doing it anymore.
Commerce fills the pocket, but does not necessarily fulfill.
On another note... Have you ever been to a store that’s simply so beautiful and well executed that you wished you had a need for something they sell? The Ithaca Guitar Works is such a store for me. I don’t play guitar, and don’t ever really intend to, but this store is so wonderful that it makes me wish I did.
Been thinking lately…thinking about the fact that thinking is the thing I really like to do most. I could sit around all day and just think about stuff and never be bored. And I’m referring to thinking about things by choice, not problems or situations you have to think about because of work or other responsibilities. It’s really fun to just sit there and ruminate about the workings of the universe. For instance today I figured out why the back of the bus is a rougher ride than the front, even though the whole bus is traveling on the same road and the same bumps (it’s a simple physics thing—and the same theory applies to roller-coasters). I’ll share this revelation at a later date. Or you can just figure it out for yourself.
It really bothers me that I’ll only be able to spend, at most, 10-15% of my life sittin’ around thinking. I think that’s why I’m resentful of any job I’ve held, even it was a great job. (Any past or potential employers reading this can feel free to completely ignore that last sentence.) Thinking for the purposes of commerce just isn’t as fun.
This makes me very sad. Douglas Adams both underscored my already-existing mental aberrancies, and inspired the creation of all new ones within me. His writing took me away from this world a carefree way that no other author has ever been able to quite duplicate. I’ve read and re-read his books many times, and in fact am currently in the process of reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for about the eleventh time. It makes me happy to know that I was reading one of his books on the day he died.
Knowing that he was still alive gave me reassurance that there was yet another person out there that understood the insanity of the world, and wasn’t afraid to unapologetically communicate it. By creating analogies to human life through stories of strange events in outer space, Adams pointed out the silliness that underscores many of the world’s major problems. One of my favorite quotations from his entire body of work lies in the first few pages of Hitchhiker’s Guide:
This planet [referring to the Earth] has—or rather had—a problem, which was this: most of the people living on it were unhappy for pretty much of the time. Many solutions were suggested for this problem, but most of these were largely concerned with the movements of small green pieces of paper, which is odd because on the whole it wasn’t the small green pieces of paper that were unhappy.
Well, that about sums it up for me. Speaking for myself and the rest of the people out there who are often confused by what goes on in this world, we’ll miss you Douglas.
The Hotel School here at Cornell "proudly brews" Starbucks coffee. At times, when under the constraints of a busy schedule, I purchase this coffee because no other convenient source is available. The other day, on the cup of my Starbucks-brand coffee, was printed the following slogan:
There is a hidden magic in Starbucks coffee; proper brewing releases the subtle bouquet of flavors stored in each bean.
This is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I mean, I realize that in Branding 101 they teach you to "sell the magic," but doesn't this just come across as transparent BS to anyone with at least a sixth grade education?
I'm still alive. By my own schedule, I'm supposed to update What I Am Playing with Right Now today. However, for the past month I haven't really been playing at all. So it's going to have to wait until next week. Too many other "deliverables" right now.
Perhaps in preparation for Easter (?), Our Weird Neighbor has replaced the scary straw doll hanging from her apartment’s doorknob with an even scarier bunny.
Today is Dragon Day here at Cornell. The festivities just ended. What is Dragon Day? According to one architecture student, Dragon Day is "a day in April devoted to demonstrating the mild rivalry that may exist between Cornell engineering students and architecture students through an on campus ritual, enacted as a form of entertainment." Here's a photo, and another. Here is a photo of the dragon on fire.
Furthermore, "Students and faculty acknowledge this day and the acts that take place as entertainment for all on campus. I believe Dragon Day started at Cornell because of a mild rivalry that may have existed between the Cornell engineering and architecture students. Dragon Day demonstrates this now friendly competition between the two. A ritual takes place in which architecture students create a large, paper-mache dragon and march through the engineering quad with it. Then, a designated engineering student lights the dragon on fire, destroying the architecture students' creation. Many people gather around to watch the ceremony and throw toilet paper into the flames to make them larger. When the celebration is complete, toilet paper lines the trees of the engineering and arts quads as remnants of the grand ritual that had taken place earlier that day."
Megan has been annoyed recently with inconsiderate pedestrian habits in San Francisco, such as umbrella poking, and people not paying attention to where they’re walking while they’re on a cel phone. Well, now *I* have something to complain about as well.
Let me just lay it down: Bus, commuter train, and elevator etiquette. This message is directed to all oncoming riders. When the bus, train or elevator stops and the door opens, the following is the only acceptable course of action:
- First, let everyone who is exiting at your location vacate the vehicle completely.
- After, AND ONLY AFTER, everyone has exited, you are permitted to board the vehicle.
I’ve been a rider of public transport and elevators all my life, and I’ve never experienced such a frequent occurrence of this type of behavior. People ‘round here must be unfamiliar with these crazy new-fangled inventions.
Rosie and Maria threw me a birthday party last night. Many of my friends came. Life is simple. I am happy.
What I Am Playing with Right Now has been updated.
Here’s something interesting: I HATE modern country music. I like some of the older, classic stuff, like Johnny Cash, but almost everything released after 1978 turns my stomach. And now (well honestly, 2000), out of nowhere comes Kasey Chambers. I love love love her music. And she’s from Australia. Go figure. Go buy her album, give her lots of money. She deserves it. While you're at it, give me some money, too.
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