"My Kinda Town"

What’s New in Old New York?

 

Mayor Bill de Blasio, an ultra liberal, has:

 A new hands off policy for cops and the people. No more stop and frisk of potential suspects. Deemed to be too racially profiling. This took effect in January. Crime In certain areas of the city has risen by 25% as has the number of arrested people carrying firearms.

A more laissez-faire attitude about things like cars honking their horns. Mayor Bloomberg told the cabs and cars to stop honking their horns all day long. It was the first thing I noticed when I moved here, how quiet the streets were.  The horn honking has begun again.

The New York Sports teams have really gone in the dumper. The Yankees had their worst season in 15 years.  The Mets, perennially middle of the pack or worse ended up a bit below the middle of the pack. I prayed the Knicks would not resign Carmelo Anthony, a prolific scorer but not a team player or leader but they brought him back. He gets his 30 plus points a game and the team loses. Par for the course. The Nets new splashy first season in Brooklyn last year (they still have the classiest unis) has given way to inertia and indifference this year. The Rangers (hockey that game played on ice) made it to the Lord Stanley Cup championships last year but this year they are off to a yawn of a season

and the Football Giants and Jets are the equivalent of really, really ugly twins. Thank God for my favorite team playing well the New York Islanders. They are in first place in the National Hockey League Capitol Division (they are a hockey team you know that game played on ice).

Philip Seymour Hoffman died in Greenwich Village of a drug overdose. The East Village and Greenwich Village (neighboring communities in Lower Manhattan) are the places of choice for celebrities that do themselves in.

Horse drawn carriages in Central Park are about to be a thing of the past. The Mayor pledged to get rid of them for the sake of the horses.  Where will “Mr. Big” and Carrie go for that rich person’s romantic interlude now? The horses (not breed horses, nor recreational animals) will go to the glue factory. Well, at least they won’t be exploited. By the way the horses were not consulted on their future.

Fares are soon going up on the subway (locals just refer to the subway as “trains”) and buses from 2.50 per ride to 2.75 per ride. That means my monthly ridership will jump from 65.00 per month to 70.00. I spent more on gas in San Diego in 2 weeks than that. The most used mode of transportation in Manhattan and some outer boroughs continues to be walking.

An elderly Chinese-American man was pushed in front of a train in the Bronx for no apparent reason.

The alleged perpetrator  (although the camera videotaping the assault made his positive identification easy and along with that a positive identification that the perpetrator is dumber than dirt); a black man was accidently shot in a stairwell in Brooklyn, a rookie cop’s gun went off when he had the adrenaline rush of busting down his first door. Also, the perfectly executed (in more ways than one) choke hold on a man on Staten Island that was selling cigarettes from his car, did the trick. They don’t call it a choke hold for nothing. He choked to death.

The rookie cop said he was sorry, he got so caught up in his first “Miami Vice” like take down he lost count on how long to keep choking the criminal. He begged forgiveness of the citizens. He promised to do better with his next choke hold. The Reverend Al “Sharpy”, Sharpton of course was on the scenes of the grieving families declaring everything an “outrage”. Everything that is except himself. Oh by the way he didn’t get to the grieving Chinese-American family because he said he has to confine his outrages to black American families that get on TV due to time constraints with his own outrageous TV appearance schedule. He also said he did feel sorry for those people in the Bronx for whatever it was that was upsetting them, but he hoped they would still be able to keep their laundry business going.

New York, my kinda town

My Golden Years

“My Golden Years” by Mary Scanlon

Are you still working? The first time I heard that question, I thought how odd.  I mean, doesn’t everyone work, at least at something?  I began to learn that there is an invisible line between those who work and those who are retired, those enjoying the “golden years” where all they have is time, time and more time.  At least hopefully they do.

I heard rumors about the impending Golden Handshake, as many teachers in my district did, early in the 2008-2009 school year.  Those of us who were close to retirement immediately began figuring and figuring and figuring out whether or not it made enough financial sense to move into those golden years if the district in fact decided to give us a year’s salary as an incentive to retire.  The district needed to downsize our staffs in the middle of the Great Recession.  Pieces of paper with numbers all over them started to appear everywhere in my home and in my classroom and I hate to admit it even  in my car  (calculated during red lights).  Could I do it?

I was 59 years old and would be 60 by the end of that school year.  Because I had spent tens of thousands of dollars buying back almost five of my Massachusetts years, I would have thirty years credit by the end of that year.  I wasn’t old enough (62) to earn the highest percentage of pay possible in my pension, but the CAL-STRS representative who set my mind at ease affirmed that my pension would be higher if I continued working, but it would be enough if I accepted the handshake.

What, no more vocabulary quizzes floating around the back seat of my car? No more weekends tormented by essays to grade and lessons to be prepared? No more cold, 

“Are you still working?” backbiting school atmosphere?  I had left my home school two years previously, hoping to find an exciting new challenge in a reform-minded small school, only to be greeted by hostile students who were unwilling to work (I did eventually win them over), while I was faced with ten to twelve hour days including most Saturdays, and a cold as ice principal who had no compunctions about changing grades as she harassed those staff members who refused to comply.  What was there to miss?

I will never forget the principal’s reaction to my news.  The ice cold air conditioning was warm and inviting compared to her stare. She grimaced as she warned “Everyone HATES retirement! They all want to come back! You won’t be able to afford the medical expenses! You will be bored and lonely!”  I felt as if she were cursing me so that I would always regret leaving her school.  Before I left, she gave me an address book (an obviously re-gifted item) with her address scrawled inside, as if to say let me know how miserable you are….

Needless to say, leaving that toxic environment was such a welcome change.  I was thrilled when I received my pension check the very first month. I wasn’t used to being paid in July and August! The summer seemed normal other than that as I was used to summers off.  That September, I wrote on my Facebook page:  Mary is not going back-to-school shopping this year.  Then: Not returning to school tomorrow feels less strange than I thought it would. I feel so fortunate to have learned from so many amazing students and dedicated teachers for so many years -- and I want to keep those connections! I'm looking forward to traveling, etc., but also to discovering my next endeavor..... 

Little did I realize the twists and turns that journey would take.  The first Monday I didn’t have to work, I decided to go to Costco. No lines! No crowded parking lot! Zipping through the store! I hopped in the car and thought about what I wanted to buy.  On my way I had to drop off some letters at the post office near my home so I turned down the street to the post office.  Suddenly traffic came to a standstill as I watched elderly people trying to maneuver in and out of the parking lot.  I waited patiently as I started to inch toward the mail boxes.  First one driver then another couldn’t reach the mail slot from their car, so they had to get out, put the mail in the slot, get back into their cars and mosey on.  The third driver dropped her mail on the ground so she too had to get out of her car and put the mail into the slot.  A quick errand turned into ten minutes in a parking lot.

Ah, but Costco was waiting for me! I gleefully pulled into the lot right before ten o’clock, opening time for the store.  I didn’t realize the new coupon book had just come out.  The parking lot was surprisingly full.  I found a cart and prepared to move at my rapid pace through the store.  As soon as I entered, I was blocked by slowly moving carts manned by white haired people with canes and walkers.  An occasional scooter followed them. Maneuvering through the store was slower than the day before Christmas! Wait: were these people now my PEERS?  Then it dawned on me: being retired meant GETTING OLD!!! WHAAAATTTT???

I learned that day not to go shopping at Costco on Monday morning. I also learned very soon after that not to go into the ladies’ locker room at the gym right after the water aerobics class let out (same group more or less as Costco, just NAKED this time!!!)   I spent that first year exercising, hiking, and traveling to Hawaii, Utah, and Italy (separate trips).  That spring I decided to add a relationship to the mix and so began my online dating fiasco I mean experience.  

Besides learning that I was barreling toward old age, I also began to see that work had provided me with a strong sense of purpose and a community of caring friends and associates that I saw Monday through Friday.  The removal of work meant the removal of those two very important aspects of my life.  I also had to manage my own schedule which turned out eventually to be the thing I like best about retirement but also was the part that brought me the most challenges.  I was confronted with questions like what do I like to do. Who am I?  For so long I had defined myself as mother and teacher and others’ needs almost always came first.  Now my son had disconnected from me in a very painful way so I had no work and no connection with him.

I became involved in a relationship with a Latin (like my son) not quite yet divorced guy who had adopted two Latin babies with his wife (like I had adopted Alex, but on my own).  I thought it was cosmic to meet him and hoped it would attract my son back to me.  I pushed down my own preferences and habits and adapted to his and maintained a visor like grip on our relationship even though after a 37 year marriage he made it clear he was single in name and in spirit.  I continued to exercise and travel, this time to China, Ireland and Italy for a second time.  I also reconnected with my son during this period, much to my relief and happiness.

After the inevitable break up with the happily single guy, I experienced a great deal of pain as I tried to adjust to so much time alone.  The end of the relationship was my focus as I drank wine and listened to old voice mail messages over and over, but in my heart I knew that was not the real problem.  I had to confront who I was now that my roles didn’t define me. I had to find new purpose and create new community. I had to move on to the next phase of my life.  And I had to accept growing old.  

Luckily, my good friend Carol retired from her teaching job and we shared our struggles with retirement while we cycled and worked the weight machines at the gym.  We recounted days of wondering what to do next, of being tired of house projects, of needing and wanting more.  She is married but she listened patiently as I described all of the men I was meeting online, kissing (or to be more accurate, not kissing) many frogs as they say.   We shared stories and occasional tears about our journeys toward a fulfilling retirement.  

I realized from observing my other retired friends that we each branched out in different ways.  One became immersed in political action, another in quilting and volunteering to teach quilting to elementary students, another in spending time with her grandchildren.  I mentored student teachers and first year teachers for three years, but then realized it was time to break away from education.  I acknowledged that balance was most important to me since it was so hard to achieve balance when I was a single parent and teaching high school English for so many years, so I used that as my goal in designing my retirement. I knew I had to force myself to walk into rooms of strangers as I branched out into new adventures but also I had the option of picking and choosing what I would get involved in and how long I would stay.

Now I exercise most days a week, take writing classes at UCSD and belong to a writing group where we share and critique our work every two weeks. I enjoy plays, movies and dancing to live music, and meet up occasionally with new and old friends on both coasts.  I also enjoy being home alone sometimes. I have joined Rotary and participate in volunteer activities through that organization.  I have abandoned online dating but my circle of friends continues to expand.  My travels seem to be mostly to family on the east coast but Barcelona is definitely on the to do list.  Best of all, my son, his wife and my two grandchildren are stationed four hours away and they are very much a part of my life.  I have recaptured who I am and what I like to do.  My activities may change, my face will continue to wrinkle, but I no longer break out in a cold sweat if I go to Costco on a Monday morning.  I still do not, however, go into the gym locker room when the water aerobics ladies are there.

"The 2014 NYC Summer Pigeon Conference"

                Recently I was able to get some pictures of the annual New York City Pigeon Conference in Manhattan. All five boroughs of New York were represented as well as the northern most section of Manhattan, Harlem. I hadn’t realized it before this year but once a year in July the Pigeons converge on the Upper East Side to enjoy a luncheon (see pic) and then discuss (sometime contentiously) the various issues all pigeons in New York face.

If you look at the two pigeons facing away from the others and not partaking of the catered lunch, they represent Harlem. We know that because they are separated from the group and seem in their own world. They do like being able to cross 110th street and be on the Upper East Side. The three dark colored pigeons on the right, one of them has a green neck, represent Brooklyn. You would know that if you had attended the luncheon because they don’t exactly warble, they voilble. Plus, they stick together just like the Brooklyn pigeons have always done. They still resent the superior- acting pigeons of  Manhattan and Queens. The gray and black pigeons in the center are from Queens. They are very social, but you’ll notice the deference they give to the red one in the middle. The one in the center is from Manhattan. These Queens pigeons are essentially Manhattan pigeon wannabe’s. They present themselves as confidant and unique but that belies the psychic pain they feel deep in their pigeon core that they will never be as sheik and glamorous as the Manhattan pigeons. I mean the pigeons from Queens Fly over CITI Field, the home of the Mets, and they scrounge and act the fools for food at Mets games, but it still sticks in their little pigeon craws that the Manhattan pigeons get to work Yankee Stadium.

                Now notice the three black pigeons in the center vertically. They are right next to the reddish one in the center. Those are the representatives from da Bronx. It’s easy to see why they are from da Bronx; they don’t back down from no pigeons and while they give deference to the Godfather pigeon in the center, notice they have bullied their way into the center too. The Bronx pigeons are crafty, clever, urban jungle, street dwellers. Do NOT try to get clever with a Bronx pigeon!

 Oh, see the one on the far left, the grayish one? Well, he represents the little, almost forgotten, inconsequential borough of New York: Staten Island. It’s so insignificant that they only bothered to send one pigeon rep. He eats in silence and humbleness as befits Staten Island compared to the bigger and more assertive boroughs. One side bar: This Staten Island pigeon tried to sneak his cousin “Steinberg” into the conference. You see Steinberg on the far right side of the luncheon table (not eating). Even though he isn’t allowed to eat at the luncheon, he can watch the big boys and learn how it’s done.   Still and all, Steinberg did manage to get off the island and come to the Big Apple, a dream come true for most Staten Islanders I assure you.

                It’s time to point out the big Kahuna pigeon in the center, the reddish one. That’s the Manhattan blue blood, the Godfather of New York Pigeons, the pigeon that began the Pigeon Union ten years ago after the infamous five year Scrap Wars before which by the way, claimed thousands of pigeons lives. Yes, that’s Carmine, but every pigeon calls him “Big Red”.  Big Red don’t take no crap offa any city pigeon. All pigeon business goes through Big Red.  No pigeon takes a crap in this town without Big Red knowing about it.

It’s an interesting story how he got to be so powerful. He was not elected to the position. Oh no, after the Scrap Wars there was a battle to see who would lead the New York Pigeons. Carmine, as the story goes, apparently won out in a one year 5 borough pigeon bloodbath. Open warfare in the streets, dive bombing, sharpened beaks, warbling threats the likes of which pigeons are still too nervous to openly cluck about.

Well, Carmine apparently (as the pigeon myth goes) faced the last challenger, “Rags” from Broiklyn. While negotiations were still going on for a peaceful resolution to who would run the Pigeon population Big Red and his squadron of  “night birds” (so called because they were jet black and impossible to see) attacked the Brooklyn pigeon stronghold over on Flatbush Avenue just up the street from Ho Chi Minh’s laundry.  My Gawd, the mayhem! I wasn’t there but I’ve talked to several (now much older pigeon) survivors that begin to tear up when they talk about it. Comrades lost, friends pecked to bits, feathers flying, and the squawking intimidation alone caused several of the Broiklyn pigeons to die outright of heart attacks. One veteran of that Pigeon war still tears up today if asked about his lost winged Band of Brothers.

                Well, so much for Pigeon history. Big Red held the meeting after the luncheon. They laid out borough territories for pigeons to operate in for the next year. The discussion on how much to pester tourists came up and it was agreed, that they would pester the shit out of every one of them. Some of the Uber pigeons went so far as to demand they try grabbing food out of tourist’s hands. The Staten Island pigeon rep. Irwin suggested that scaring off tourists was bad for future business but he was roundly warbled down. Most agreed that there never seems to be an end of naive, gullible tourists that want to go home telling a story of how a New York pigeon ate their food, and then dumped a load on their head.

              

By the way the white bird in the upper part of the picture is your classic definition of the New York “outsider”. He's probably from Long Island.

"Stop Crying Brazil"

                Stop crying Brazil! I know your beloved National soccer team lost in the semi-finals of the World Cup to Germany by 7-1. I know you are the host country of this World Cup match and that Brazil has always been an international powerhouse in soccer for decades but a big fat: So What! Teams lose, that is why the game is played on the field or court. Otherwise we would just put all the stats in a computer and have it declare a winner.

                What gets me about all this is the after game Brazilian melo-drama. The Brazilian reaction was so over the top. Here are a few comments from randomly selected Brazilian people about the loss, as reported in the NY Times:

“…Brazil lacked concentration, it lacked commitment, but above all the things it lacked talent”.

“I kind of cried, I cried without tears” (Francisco Pareira de Godol age 5)

“Some people said they were sorry for the players, but not me. They didn’t show love for the game, I think it was a total *unbalance”. (*Not a typo)

“Brazil did not have a team. It was way too bad. It did not have a midfield, it didn’t have strikers. We should have been *disqualified during the first round, against Chile”. (*Note: you can’t disqualify a team just because you don’t like them)

“The Way they hurt the hearts of the Brazilian people. My head hurts. It’s too much suffering”. (Adilson Mourao aged 47)

“It was a disaster. Like we were dizzy. A tractor ran over us”.

                Before the game, Brazilians loved their team. The stadium where the game was played was packed, there were outdoor screens and countless thousands watching on the beaches and in stadiums all across the country. Those places had “carnivale”-like atmospheres. Why? Because Brazil had lost only one match at home out of the last 20+ games. Brazilians expected to beat Germany and were celebrating even before the game. We all know what over confidence can do. Teams often get careless and make mistakes. Brazil did!

                Disappointment that your team lost? Of course. Shock that they lost? Yes. But get over it Brazil. All teams lose, favorites lose, and let’s not forget Germany is a great team. They are likely going to win the World Cup. You weren’t playing the Sisters of Mercy you know! Germany is referred to as the Machine because of their precision passes and speed. Just the kind of team that if you relax or lose concentration they will carve you up which is exactly what happened.

                 

Here is what Brazilians should be upset about:

A)     50% of the population lack the resources for basic survival

B)      Schools have inadequate infrastructure, lack of teachers, they are located in dangerous neighborhoods, and nonattendance in schools is rampant. 20% of the population can’t read at all.

C)      Police brutality is commonplace and crime is everywhere. When people have no education for decent jobs, and are poor they look for illegal ways to make a living.

D)     Hospitals are old and crumbling, there is a shortage of medicines in every city, doctors are in short supply and at best care is minimal.

It’s true that the bigger cities have had an economic upturn in recent years which has led to job openings at livable wages but there are almost no qualified applicants. Brazil, you are still a third rate country. I’m sorry, I get the fun of Rio, the Carnivale and the beaches. I do but unless a person is in the upper 15% of the economy, life in Brazil is brutal.

                My point is this: Brazil you have so many things to be upset about that need fixing and your soccer team isn’t one of them. Your priorities are bass-ackwards. The soccer team is and will be fine and maybe a good old fashioned ass whipping is what they needed to pull them out of their overconfident lethargy. You need to be crying over your (what could be great country but is still a) third rate country and do something about that. Look to the United States for inspiration here.

                Germany defeated the United States 2-1 in the World Cup and little old Belgium knocked America out in the quarter finals. Groans were heard in every bar and home for about 7 minutes. Then it was time to get back to the real business of living our lives. We have perspective here not hysteria. The most common thing overheard when America was knocked out was: well, when does football season start?