Neighborhood Threat

Dear New York City:

Let’s face it: you know food. As a young child, I was taught at my father’s knee that there were certain food items that one did not order outside of New York City, much less West of the Mississippi. I would test your culinary boundaries, but for the most part, my father’s warnings held true. You elevate food, dining, and all related activities into an art form, or at the very least, a ritual.

This is why I am continually amazed at your inability to master the latte.

This morning I ordered a 16oz soy latte from a well-known establishment on Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg. I watched as the barista was juggling bagel orders while my espresso sat…and sat… and sat. My drink was handed to me with a note that if it was “too hot” I should let him know. That should have been my warning. It wasn’t until i was outside and down the block that I realized that the drink wasn’t too hot, it had been BURNT until it was bereft of any flavor whatsoever, it was so full that it exploded the minute I took the top off of it, there was nothing resembling the trademark latte foam, and that the soy milk had not been shaken with each use so what was in my drink was diluted down to the consistency of chalk water (and the taste of same was not far off).

My drink cost $4, not including the $1 tip (I lived in Seattle for nine years - I *tip* my barista). I would have been happier with a 60 cent coffee from my local bodega, the God Bless Deli & Grocery, and this is the establishment I will patronize in future.

I realize I am spoiled. In Seattle, the ANY DRINK, ANY FLAVOR, ANY SIZE $2.50 drive-through espresso stand near my house (which I affectionately referred to as “McLatte”) made a better beverage than anything I have ever had in the New York metropolitan area. However, it seems like a simple issue: if you don’t have someone on staff at all times that knows how to run an espresso machine properly, don’t offer it on your menu. End of story.

In Seattle, one is accustomed to one’s barista being a member of the local rock and roll community. I have fond memories of being served lattes by members of the Western State Hurricanes and the Murder City Devils, amongst others. Given the fact that the greater NYC metro area has more Future Rock Stars of America per block than any other area in the country, it is perplexing in the extreme that no one here can seem to make an espresso beverage worth drinking.

And don’t even suggest the “S” word. Shame on you.

Warmest regards,

me.

I don’t spend a lot of time in Hasidic Williamsburg, but I do spend a lot of time driving through it. The first dozen or so times I drove through, it was just *odd*: there are sections which feel like certain parts of Jerusalem, giving me total deja vu, and others that just feel like we’re in the 18th century, making you feel like you’d temporarily stepped through some kind of time warp.

For example, this photo, which I took early Saturday afternoon. What year are we in? See the full, uncropped version after the jump.

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Our anniversary celebrations found us making an impromptu visit to the observatory at the top of Rockefeller Center, just as the magic hour set in. Somehow, there were no lines, there were no huge crowds, and cheesy or not, it was one of those moments that reminds you why you live in the greatest city in the world.

Click on the photos so you can see the large size images at flickr, it is so totally worth it.

The vitriol is kind of split in the house right now:

• The strike totally derailing our anniversary plans
• The strike totally demolishing the day job
• Bloomberg saying or doing just about anything
• Pataki trying to act presidential
• Toussant being compared to Rosa Parks or Martin Luther King
• Patriot Act being renewed
• Johnny Damon getting traded to the Yankees

At least I can get back and forth to Woodside in about an hour now, although Queens Blvd. (the approach to the Queensboro, which everyone is taking because it is free) is becoming more and more impossible to cross; people care less and less about blocking intersections. I realize people have more horrific strike stories than I do, but like everyone else, any sympathy I had for the transit workers (and I’m honestly not sure I had any) is gone.

That was the BQE at about 8:30 this morning, after I’d dropped the boyfriend at Woodside, and didn’t want to sit in the backup leading to Queens Blvd. (which was really the backup to the Queensboro Bridge). Thanks to the day job, I have a passing acquaintence with the industrial zones in Brooklyn and Queens so it wasn’t that difficult for me to figure out how to get back home, and managed to get plenty of practice with the new camera as I sat in traffic:

twu-unfair

Originally uploaded by spotteddogsdotorg.

The traffic is so incredibly bad right now - there isn’t more of it, but what there is has sunk to an all-time low - that I cannot imagine what it will be like on the streets if there is a transit strike. I am having to budget 45 minutes to get from Greenpoint to Bed-Stuy and at least 30 to get to some parts of Bushwick right now (shave 10-15 minutes off those times for ‘normal’ driving times). I don’t quite know what it is but it has been hell on the roads for the past week and a half.

It is strange how the strike inserts itself into all your plans. I had been trying to find a few hours to go into Manhattan to do nothing more than hit Macy’s for a few hours and pick up my mail at my p.o. box, and once I realized I wasn’t going to be able to do it today (work got busy all of a sudden), I did my shopping online, and will have to wait and see with the rest. I can always drive to Long Island or Connecticut if I have to. And, of course, the boyfriend is home for the holidays, so if there is a strike, I will be crawling out of bed early each morning to ferry him to Woodside to catch the LIRR.

All we can do right now is sit watching NY1 as though we will have an answer any time before midnight, and wait for the allegedly impending ICE STORM 2005. The precipitation right now is just small glistening speckles that look like large sugar crystals, and that turn transparent as soon as they hit the ground - but are still there, because you hear them crackle underfoot as you walk down the sidewalk.

Using the excuse of the boyfriend, and he, of course, would *have* to have a Christmas tree.
I was lobbying for putting a menorah on top.
him: “You could have a menorah on the windowsill.”
me: “Erph.”
him: “Do you even own a menorah?”
me: “No comment.”

People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can’t find them, make them.
- George Bernard Shaw

Today was the day. The first day 2006 tickets went on sale for Mets season ticket holders, and therefore the day I drove out to Shea and went out into the stadium to evaluate potential seating locations.

This is the view from our — OUR! — seats for the 2006 season. Can I get a “hell, yeah?”