Transient facade

I went to a talk at the Tenement Museum last night on The Archaeology of Home by Katharine Greider. Her story tells the history of her former home on E 7th Street and also weaves in the social and physical history of the neighborhood, city, and country at large.  Something Ms Greider said in her talk struck a chord with me: she mentioned the home as a facade, where one idea of 'home' is presented publicly, but another idea, or reality, of 'home' exists within.

photo: My Flickr

When I first moved into my tenement apartment, I wondered about those who'd lived there before me and was curious about its history.  Who were the original tenants?  How many people lived in my tiny space?  Was anyone born there or did anyone die?  What happened to all the previous tenants?  Did they move on to bigger an better things?  Did they like living here?  Was it socially respectable to live at this address?

Downstairs, a ghostly name plate adorns the wall:

None of these names are current and no one has any memory of any of them.  The apartment numbers themselves are a mystery - there are some numbers missing and there is one that doesn't even exist.  In a storage closet under the stairs, I found another hand-written list of tenants that was apparently kept by a past super.  He'd crossed out names and written in new ones as the occupants came and went.  I only recognized two names on that list and none of the above are on it, so this name plate goes back many years, possibly decades.

Uncovering the actual history of the building has been quite difficult as the building is not notable in any way and the building records have either been lost or are archived out of my reach.  I've only recently discovered who the occupants were in 1900, a century before I settled in, yet I still don't know if this address was a permanent home for those people or just a temporary landing place in the city so they could get a foothold and move on to something else.  I do know the owner of  the building in 1900 died a short time later in Brooklyn, so even she did not live out her days here.

When I came to live in this building, it was meant to be a short stay, a few months at the most.  I resisted settling in too much or fully unpacking as I might have to leave at any moment.  A decade later, I still have a packed suitcase...and I've never put my name on the mail box.  So, when does a mere dwelling become a home?  Does a home need to be nicely furnished or full of memorabilia?  I have never had an affection for my building, but I am definitely attached to it.  Sometimes, I feel like its defender.  As gentrification and development encroach on the surrounding area, I'm more likely to fight to preserve this building rather than abandon it for a more modern residence.

The building, in a sense, is my facade.  I can live behind it and call myself a New Yorker, East Villager, Lower East Sider...but these titles belong to the building, not necessarily to me.  My existence outside the building can be something else entirely, but when I want to feel secure - feel myself - I go home, and home is here.

Can you see the man in the photo above?  I see him every time I climb the stairs and am reminded that, although I may call this place home now, many others have shared this same space and claimed it as their own.  I like to think this is the spirit of the building, its past, present and future - and I never step on him.

Easter at Mars

I popped into Mars Bar this last Sunday for the new, and possibly last, art show and barbecue.  I was (happily) shocked as I walked in to see the room not only jam-packed, but full of so many people I know.  It struck me then that this is what I'll miss most of all - a place where, at any given time, I can go and find friends and acquaintances, and pick up our conversation right where we previously left off. Some I'd not seen in months, but time flies out the window here and minutes can turn into hours, as a lifetime can slip away inside a fairy hill.



I think this is the most new art I've ever seen for a show.  Be sure to drop by and check it out - it's a great collection, too much for me to show here (and better to see in person anyway).



The best work of all, though, was this cake hand-decorated by Marty.



What a masterpiece.  After a couple of hours, it looked like this:



Let's see, we've got beer, money, rib bones, chocolate eggs, matches, plates, a straw...I hear it was pretty tasty, too.

A good time was had by all and it makes me sad to think about losing such an unrestrained, fun and creative place.  The drinks are just a bonus.

Be sure to check out more photos from the day at Marty After Dark and Nadie Se Conoce.

Previously:
While we're on the subject of Mars
Is there life after Mars?
Roy

More of my Mars pics can be found here.

Happy Easter

Have a very happy Easter...





...and if you're in need of entertainment and good company, come on out to Mars for a new art show. 

More signs of spring

Along with all the trees and flowers, April showers are enabling other creatures to emerge from their pods...

Pink'd

Nothing says 'Spring' to me like the color pink.  After this last 300-day winter, I say it's time to break out the pink and make Spring happen.


Stuyvesant Square


5th Street


Survivor


Lady Pink


Wooster & Spring


Bleecker

The Devil's Drool...

...in Tompkins Square.



This scene reminds me of Antonioni's Blow-up, based on a short story by Julio Cortázar.

Sad lamp

While walking down West Broadway in the rain the other morning, I was stopped dead in my tracks by this...



...and was immediately reminded of this commercial directed by Spike Jonze:



Direct YouTube link.

April fool

It's been one of those weeks.  One of those unnecessarily crazy weeks where I begin to wonder if Alan Funt is playing a big joke on me from beyond the grave.

Although there hasn't been one particular event to push me to the edge, there have been a series of small annoyances - death by a thousand cuts, if you will.  If I re-hash every single one, this post will drag on for days, so here are some highlights:

 

Sleep deprivation brought on by a partner who snores, followed by nights spent sleeping on a couch that is much too small. 

 

Stumbling around barefoot in the dark to get to said couch, stepping in some well-placed cat barf. 

 

Discovering there is no hot water and the shower is flooding the downstairs apartment.  Take a day off work to supervise the plumber. 

 

Every time I turn on a lamp, the bulb burns out.  Are they timed to do this?? 

 

Captain Snore gets up in the night and knocks my cosmetics into the toilet...then flushes!  When the kitchen tongs prove to be too short to retrieve what's halfway down the drain, someone is forced to use their bare arm...then scrub it with bleach and anything else that will remove that tainted layer of skin.  Go to the hardware store and get a crash course in toilet-augering.  (By the way, the guys at Ace on First Ave and 4th Street are the best!)

 

Get hit by a car.  Really!  Not serious, but a harrowing experience nonetheless. 

As I see it, there's only one to blame for this bad luck...

Super Moon!

 

Happy Friday, everyone.  Enjoy the snow...

Luxury in small doses

I consider anything that is not a necessity to be a luxury.  As I do not lead a life of leisure, this means I can do without an awful lot of things, including those which others may consider necessary:  car, regular hot water, bathtub, closets, drawers, light switches, rubber boots, microwave....for several years, I lived without a knife or a hair brush.

This isn't to say that I don't have many possessions, but my miniscule living quarters demand that I do not accumulate too many things, and I like it that way.  And, I've certainly spent enough money over the years replacing things that, suddenly broken or gone, become necessary.  When my fat ass broke the couch, I had to buy a new one; when a flood took out the ceiling light, I had to buy a new one; when the vacuum stopped sucking, I had to buy a new one; when my only baking dish exploded in the oven, I had to buy a new one; when the super broke the toilet seat while repairing the ceiling...you get the idea.

So, I can't remember the last time I bought something that was not meant to replace something else. Imagine my excitement to bring home something that I did not necessarily need, but bought just because I wanted it...

Yes, that is a doormat.

Now, I'm not completely crazy - there is a bit of history here.  When I moved into the apartment, there wasn't a doormat, so there was never one that needed replacing.  For several years, there was a lunatic tenant in the building who terrorized the neighbors by either destroying their doormats, or moving them around and leaving creepy notes under them.  Eventually, she succeeded in eliminating all the evil doormats. 

A year or two ago, the lunatic moved on to greener pastures and there was quite a bit of turnover in the building.  The new tenants brought their friendliness and doormats with them and I began to feel like the odd one out - the old ogre of the building without a welcoming greeting at my door. 

When I placed my new purchase out in the hall, I was hesitant to shut the door.  I don't think I've ever left any possession outside, unattended and vulnerable.  Throughout the evening, I kept cracking open the door to look at it...  

Still there?   

Yep.

Now I can relax, kick my feet up on the new couch, look up at the new ceiling light as meatballs heat up in the new baking pan and feel I'm living in the lap of luxury.  

Centennial of a Nightmare

March 25th marks the 100th anniversary of the horrific fire that claimed the lives of 129 women and 17 men at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory on Washington Place.

Image: NYPL Digital Gallery

Much has been written about fire, and you can read the history and details here.


Something also worth reading is this eye-witness account of the horror, recorded by United Press reporter, William Shepherd.


Some excerpts:

One girl climbed onto the window sash. Those behind her tried to hold her back. Then she dropped into space. I didn't notice whether those above watched her drop because I had turned away. Then came that first thud. I looked up, another girl was climbing onto the window sill; others were crowding behind her. She dropped. I watched her fall, and again the dreadful sound. Two windows away two girls were climbing onto the sill; they were fighting each other and crowding for air. Behind them I saw many screaming heads. They fell almost together, but I heard two distinct thuds. Then the flames burst out through the windows on the floor below them, and curled up into their faces.

[ . . . ]

Up in the [ninth] floor girls were burning to death before our very eyes. They were jammed in the windows. No one was lucky enough to be able to jump, it seemed. But, one by one, the jams broke. Down came the bodies in a shower, burning, smoking-flaming bodies, with disheveled hair trailing upward. They had fought each other to die by jumping instead of by fire.

Painful interviews with several survivors can be found here.  It's sickening to know workers had complained about fire safety in the factory - even on the morning of the fire - and management chose not to listen.  In some instances, even ridiculing the women, saying, "If you'll burn, there'll be something to put out the fire."


Many events will be happening on Friday to commemorate the fire, details of which can be found at WNYC.