Tim's back yard
I'm in Williamsburg, which is Brooklyn north-ish of the BQE (Brooklyn-Queens Expressway), and about 10 short blocks north of Tim's place on Broadway. I can tell already that I didn't buy enough time on this computer--this may be a little rough.
There is so much to relate, and there are so many fine details. Williamsburgh is much quieter than Manhattan, but still far from quiet. There is a height limit on buildings for the most part, here, so three stories is about the average. Tim's place is in an old-school loft building with wood floors and beams and warehouse wall-sized windows. The decor in his second floor loft is original photography, art shipping cases, and bicycles. The elevator to the roof is an experience. I have decided that the primary aroma of the city is old machine oil. I'd expected to be a little more aware of diesel, piss and garbage scents--watched too much tv in my life, I suppose--but the predominant one is machine oil. Tim's building has a spectacular view from the roof, with gardens and barbecues and satellite dishes vining up the chimney--It really is, as Tim says "the best clubhouse a boy could ever have."
So what have we done here? We've had a Bad Cabbie, pretending not to know the area. Our loft host came down to the street and chewed him out. Our digs are perfect, close and comfortable. Tim met us there and we walked the Williamsburgh Bridge at midnight after some $3 felafel. The bridge is a beautiful old thing, with lots of pedestrian traffic and bikes on it all through the night.
We wore Tim out on Tuesday going into Manhattan. Turned the wrong way on foot out of the subway and ended up at Ground Zero. I am surprised at how it really looks like nothing more than a constuction site, but a very large one. I wanted very much to see the scale of it, and to look at the heights of buildings that are there and compare them to what is gone is some help, but it is still very difficult to imagine.
Our big success in the City was walking into Central Park, in the rain, to see the angel in the fountain. She really is the loveliest sight in the city, mid-stride, carrying lilies.
Evening took us to Park Slope to a talk. Crushed into an alleyside gallery near the Gouamas Canal, we listened to two people who have started the Prelinger Library in San Francisco, gathering printed ephemera: magazines, industry publications, old municipal reports. It is all organized around the concept of landscape, and they are trying to keep a lot of discarded public domain materials available and in the public domain so that, for one, the stream of information about land use and ecological issues is preserved. Heather Rogers invited us; She's written the book Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage.
Forgive my slim descriptions. Here is an example of why I cannot communicate it all to you: just recently, they discovered an abandoned fallout shelter inside the Brooklyn Bridege. Full of carrots and peas in cans. There is so much here to take in that even a fallout shelter can be lost for half a century.
Yesterday we met Tim for a vegetarian brunch at Bliss; then Dan and I struck out for Ellis Island. The exhibits seem a little whitewashed to me--no mention of everybody's name being changed, for example. They could also use a few Seattle Ferry captains. We decided that the ferry drivers might be summer help.
The voice of the National Park Service Ferry to Ellis Island is Ned Flanders. Honest.
Dinner, back with Tim, Aztec Mexican under the elevated trains on Broadway. Tiny place, delicious food. Then on for coffee, we found that late at night the coffee shop where I've gone every morning, Marlowe and Sons, turns into table service only. They seem to be known for oysters, all East Coast types, and we see a lot of half-shell plates pass by. Dan retired his charms early, and Tim and I talked about His Future in Bicycles until we, too, tucked in.
Now, I'm steps away from the Bedford Cheese Shop, where I was offered a taste of their favorite and mine, Pleasant Ridge Reserve. They have many cheeses I've never seen or heard of before, and prices, unlike the astonishingly low prices at Marlowe's (where I bought a 4 oz Caprini with a little shaved truffle on top for breakfast for $3.75), are pretty near Seattle prices. I think rent must figure in heavily. Marlowe's is Southside; Bedford is Northside and trendier.
I tried to hit the Brooklyn Public Library this morning, but it was closed. It's hot and sunny today, and Tim's working. I'm going to go retrieve Dan and I think we'll try to see the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. We'll meet Tim and Molly for dinner tonight.
I'm going to leave you now--must find some bus or train routes and Garden information before my time is up. Ciao!
There is so much to relate, and there are so many fine details. Williamsburgh is much quieter than Manhattan, but still far from quiet. There is a height limit on buildings for the most part, here, so three stories is about the average. Tim's place is in an old-school loft building with wood floors and beams and warehouse wall-sized windows. The decor in his second floor loft is original photography, art shipping cases, and bicycles. The elevator to the roof is an experience. I have decided that the primary aroma of the city is old machine oil. I'd expected to be a little more aware of diesel, piss and garbage scents--watched too much tv in my life, I suppose--but the predominant one is machine oil. Tim's building has a spectacular view from the roof, with gardens and barbecues and satellite dishes vining up the chimney--It really is, as Tim says "the best clubhouse a boy could ever have."
So what have we done here? We've had a Bad Cabbie, pretending not to know the area. Our loft host came down to the street and chewed him out. Our digs are perfect, close and comfortable. Tim met us there and we walked the Williamsburgh Bridge at midnight after some $3 felafel. The bridge is a beautiful old thing, with lots of pedestrian traffic and bikes on it all through the night.
We wore Tim out on Tuesday going into Manhattan. Turned the wrong way on foot out of the subway and ended up at Ground Zero. I am surprised at how it really looks like nothing more than a constuction site, but a very large one. I wanted very much to see the scale of it, and to look at the heights of buildings that are there and compare them to what is gone is some help, but it is still very difficult to imagine.
Our big success in the City was walking into Central Park, in the rain, to see the angel in the fountain. She really is the loveliest sight in the city, mid-stride, carrying lilies.
Evening took us to Park Slope to a talk. Crushed into an alleyside gallery near the Gouamas Canal, we listened to two people who have started the Prelinger Library in San Francisco, gathering printed ephemera: magazines, industry publications, old municipal reports. It is all organized around the concept of landscape, and they are trying to keep a lot of discarded public domain materials available and in the public domain so that, for one, the stream of information about land use and ecological issues is preserved. Heather Rogers invited us; She's written the book Gone Tomorrow: The Hidden Life of Garbage.
Forgive my slim descriptions. Here is an example of why I cannot communicate it all to you: just recently, they discovered an abandoned fallout shelter inside the Brooklyn Bridege. Full of carrots and peas in cans. There is so much here to take in that even a fallout shelter can be lost for half a century.
Yesterday we met Tim for a vegetarian brunch at Bliss; then Dan and I struck out for Ellis Island. The exhibits seem a little whitewashed to me--no mention of everybody's name being changed, for example. They could also use a few Seattle Ferry captains. We decided that the ferry drivers might be summer help.
The voice of the National Park Service Ferry to Ellis Island is Ned Flanders. Honest.
Dinner, back with Tim, Aztec Mexican under the elevated trains on Broadway. Tiny place, delicious food. Then on for coffee, we found that late at night the coffee shop where I've gone every morning, Marlowe and Sons, turns into table service only. They seem to be known for oysters, all East Coast types, and we see a lot of half-shell plates pass by. Dan retired his charms early, and Tim and I talked about His Future in Bicycles until we, too, tucked in.
Now, I'm steps away from the Bedford Cheese Shop, where I was offered a taste of their favorite and mine, Pleasant Ridge Reserve. They have many cheeses I've never seen or heard of before, and prices, unlike the astonishingly low prices at Marlowe's (where I bought a 4 oz Caprini with a little shaved truffle on top for breakfast for $3.75), are pretty near Seattle prices. I think rent must figure in heavily. Marlowe's is Southside; Bedford is Northside and trendier.
I tried to hit the Brooklyn Public Library this morning, but it was closed. It's hot and sunny today, and Tim's working. I'm going to go retrieve Dan and I think we'll try to see the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. We'll meet Tim and Molly for dinner tonight.
I'm going to leave you now--must find some bus or train routes and Garden information before my time is up. Ciao!
posted by Cheese Mite at 8:39 AM
4 Comments:
Lordamercy, I'm worn out hearing about your NY adventures. I'm glad you're having a fabulous time, and that Tim is well.
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wow, are you planning to keep up this pace? your slim desciptions are nonetheless delicious.
Oh thank you for fixing this blog so that I don't have to sign onto my own blogpage. God I'm so lazy. Anyway this blog is better than a book so far and actually I think it is a book so keep on bloggin girl. Take pics. Give my love to Tim (somehow I always think of him as "Timmy"). Thanks for the fun Nancy and Dan. Can't wait for the next episode.
Hi mom, just letting you know that I am having trouble reaching you by telephone. I sent you E-mail about it, so hopefully you can read your E-mail from there? Or just give me a call at 8:00AM PDT -- which is possibly 5:00PM paris time?
That bit about the abandoned fallout shelter inspired me to rent /dark days/, a documentary on residents (yes, residents, some for over 25 years) of the NY subway tunnels.
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