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Posts Tagged ‘New York City’

In New York City, a judge has blocked an effort by Mayor Michael Bloomberg to ban the sale of more than 16-ounce soft drinks in food service establishments.  The judge ruled that the ban was “arbitrary and capricious.”  Mayor Bloomberg vowed to appeal the court ruling.  This, in a nutshell, is how America works — or, more appropriately, doesn’t work — these days.

It goes like this:  The government imposes a silly, overly intrusive edict and claims it needs to do so to “promote health and safety” or hold down government spending.  The stated purpose of the New York City Big Gulp ban was to prevent obesity, a condition that affects many Gothamites, and thus reduce city health costs.  Never mind that obese people become obese for many reasons; Mayor Bloomberg decided to target big soda drinks.  Then an industry group challenges the regulation in court, taxpayer-funded government lawyers and the industry-funded lawyers fight about the issue, and eventually a judge makes a ruling.  Restraining orders get issued and appealed and the wheels of government grind to a halt while sideshow lawsuits addressing overreaching regulations command the public eye.

Does anyone think the framers of the Constitution would recognize our current government?  Who among them would believe that government would some day outlaw certain foods on the ground that citizens can’t be trusted to consume them in moderation?  Who among them would believe that one day judges would scrutinize and pass judgment on seemingly every government action?

We’ve strayed far from the initial concept of our Republic, where Americans were willing to fight and die for individual liberty and the right to representative government.  We’re not heading in the right direction.

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This week the Big Ten announced that, beginning in 2014, Rutgers and Maryland will join the conference.  That will bring the number of schools to 14 — and many people think the Big Ten is likely to add two more teams to end up at an even 16, with two eight-team divisions.  The pundits are talking about North Carolina, Kansas, Georgia Tech, and other schools as potential candidates.

One of the traditional Ohio State fight songs — Across the Field — ends with the line “so let’s win that old conference now.”   Thanks to Commissioner Jim Delany, it’s not the old conference anymore.  With the addition of Nebraska, and now Rutgers and Maryland, what used to be a northern, Midwestern conference now stretches from Nebraska to the Atlantic Ocean and from northern Minnesota to below the Mason-Dixon line.  Everyone knows, too, that the expansion is all about money.  The Big Ten wants access to the New York City and Washington, D.C. TV and fan base markets and believes that adding Rutgers and Maryland will provide that access.  Rutgers and Maryland are joining because they will get far more money from the Big Ten than they would from the Big East and the Atlantic Coast Conference, respectively.

What does it mean for Big Ten fans?  Sure, it means Big Ten teams will play schools who aren’t traditional powerhouses or traditional rivals — but Ohio State already does that, with its preseason schedule and with perennial Big Ten doormats like Indiana.  Rutgers and Maryland may not be top 20 football programs, but neither are most of the teams the Buckeyes play in their “pre-season” schedule.  If the addition of more teams means that the Big Ten schedule gets extended  and Ohio State loses a few games against the likes of San Diego State, I’m not going to cry about it.  The only problem I would have is if expansion causes Ohio State to not play Michigan every year, or puts the Buckeyes in a division featuring a bunch of new eastern teams.

What does this mean for college football?  I wonder how, with everyone chasing the almighty dollar, NCAA members can continue the pretense that college athletics is just about sacred concepts of amateur competition.  College football and, to a lesser extent, college basketball generate huge amounts of money — amounts so huge, in fact, that universities will abandon conferences they’ve belonged to for decades to get a bigger piece of the pie.  College football is saturated with TV money, product tie-ins, merchandising deals, sponsors, and other revenue generators.

So how can the NCAA justify suspending student-athletes who (in the recent case involving Ohio State) sell memorabilia for a few thousand dollars or a few free tattoos?  At some point, will someone choke on the hypocrisy?

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Here comes Hurricane Sandy, the tropical storm that is scaring the pants off everyone from the east coast to the Mississippi.

Sandy is still far to the south, but speculation about the disasters it might inflict makes for juicy headlines.  It could be a “Frankenstorm” that might pile water up against Manhattan Island, swamping low-lying areas and flooding subways tunnels.  It could wipe out hundreds of miles of beachfront through massive storm surges.  It might combine with a cold front and then drop huge amounts of heavy, wet snow up and down the heavily populated eastern seaboard, snapping rotted old trees like matchsticks, downing thousands of miles of power lines, and leaving the most densely populated part of the nation without power for days.  Under the right circumstances, the storm could paralyze multiple states and municipalities just as Election Day arrives, throwing the nation into chaos.

The dire warnings of forecasters whip us into full panic mode before cautioning us all to stay calm.  But we know what they’re really telling us.  It’s a zombie apocalypse!  Old Testament stuff!  Dogs and cats, living together!  Mass hysteria!

Hey Russell, get your flashlight ready!  Soon Brooklyn could be underwater, and the veneer of civilization may well be ripped away from the citizens of New York City, leaving marooned residents to battle savagely for the last scraps of dirty water hot dogs.  Or not.

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An “apartment” located on Central Park West in New York City has sold for its asking price — $88 million.  It was bought by a fabulously wealthy Russian fertilizer czar whose 22-year-old daughter apparently will live there.  (I hope she at least said, “Spasiba!”)

Of course, calling it an “apartment” is kind of silly.  It’s the penthouse of an apartment building that occupies an entire block.  The apartment encompasses 6,784 square feet — which is significantly larger than our home — and includes a library, four bedrooms, a den, a gallery, and three large terraces overlooking Central Park and the surrounding neighborhood.  You’d have to sell a lot of fertilizer to afford such luxury.

My first apartment, a two-bedroom job located just off the Ohio State campus that I rented in 1976, cost $150 a month.  It had a cheap stucco exterior, ultra-thin walls, puke green carpeting, and a complete lack of any security devices.  It was humble, but I called it home.

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One last point about our New York City adventure:  it taught me a valuable lesson about carefully reading the labels on unfamiliar food products.

We were buying food in the little market near our apartment.  I looked for a bottle of wine and there, in the beer aisle, were a few bottles.  Not much of a selection, and it was a label I didn’t recognize — Chateau Diana — but I reasoned that you cannot properly celebrate the holidays without wine, so I bought a bottle.  After we got the stuff back to the apartment and Russell arrived, he chuckled and explained that we had not bought wine, but instead had purchased something called “wine product.”  New York City residents are clued in, but I’d never heard about it.

Apparently “wine product” exists because the law in New York City doesn’t permit grocery stores to sell real wine.  “Wine product” skirts that law and allows markets to sell a wine-like substance.  New York law describes “wine product” as “a beverage containing wine with added juice, flavoring, water, citric acid, sugar and carbon dioxide, not containing more than six percent alcohol by volume (typically referred to as ‘wine coolers’).”  How many bottles of “wine product” are purchased by unwitting tourists, like us, who are unaware of this nuance of New York law?

After Russell filled us in, I went out and bought some real wine that we enjoyed during our visit.  However, because I was curious, and because I hate to let things go to waste, I did drink the “wine product” one evening.  It was harmless and instantly forgettable — which I guess is the point.  Next time I’m buying wine in the Big Apple, I’ll be wiser.

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This year Kish decided it would be interesting to go to New York City for Christmas.  It was an inspired idea.

Some people find the pace of New York City overwhelming; others just can’t stand the crowds.  If you fall into one of those categories, you should stay away during the holidays.  The calendar is packed with events, and the streets are crammed with people.  If you like New York and like activity, however, consider making a December visit.  In addition to the corny standard tourist activities (like a visit to Rockefeller Center) it’s a good time to see the City.

For here is the Big Apple’s dirty little secret — for all of the town’s cosmopolitan diffidence, it turns out that Gothamites really like Christmas.  They like skating at places like Bryant Park, pictured above.  They like the lights and wreathes and other decorations.  They like hearing the Christmas carols played over every loudspeaker, and they like it when guys rush onto the subway, play a few hurried bars of Feliz Navidad on a guitar and an accordion, collect a few donations, then dash to the next car at the next stop.  They like eating tiny bags of piping hot, sweetened pecans, cashews, and almonds.  They like wearing long scarves and Santa hats.  Oddly, you’re much more likely to hear someone wish you a heartfelt “Merry Christmas” in flinty New York City than you are in friendly Columbus.

I’m not saying you should go to New York City to embrace the Christmas spirit — but I am saying that it is a fun place to celebrate the holidays, have some good meals, drink some well-poured seasonal cocktails, and enjoy walking around a metropolis where the surroundings and the people alike are lit up like Christmas trees.  Our little Christmas trip to New York City was one of the most enjoyable Christmases that I can remember.

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When we were in New York City, we noticed many young women who were dressed to the nines.  They were wearing breeches, and knee-high boots, and dainty short white coats, and scarves that were carefully tied so as to look as if they had been casually tied.  A very strong high fashion vibe was in the air, everywhere — but then the whole look was destroyed when you saw the young lady, mouth agape, chomping away on a wad of gum.

You never see Vogue models with gum in their mouths.  There’s a reason for that — the vigorous jaw workout that goes with gum chewing is neither attractive nor classy.  You can put together the most attractive high-fashion clothing ensemble imaginable, one that would fit comfortably on the streets of Paris, and if you’re grinding away on a lump of gum you may as well be wearing ratty, ill-fitting sweats and walk outside with a bad case of “bed head.”  It is simply impossible to look cool and fashionable when you’re chewing gum.

I find this curious.  Anyone who pays as much attention to their appearance as these young women obviously do must be aware of how their unseemly gum-snapping is perceived.  Do they just not care how they look to strangers on the street as they chomp away, and do they then dispose of their gum in some fashionable way when they reach their fashionable destination?  Or is the gum an intentional statement that is designed to convey some kind of ironic message too subtle for me to comprehend?

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I’ve written before about VRBO, the website that allows you to find rental properties in faraway locations and deal directly with the owner in making arrangements.  We used it to book a terrific apartment in Paris, where Richard and I had a fabulous time staying in a residential neighborhood and enjoying the rhythms of Parisian life, away from the touristy hotel districts.

I’m happy to report that VRBO works just as well in New York City.  We used the website to arrange for a three-bedroom apartment in this fine apartment building along Riverside Drive near the Columbia University campus.  The apartment is surprisingly roomy, offers some excellent views of Riverside Park and the Hudson River, and is conveniently located near a red line subway stop and grocery store.  In short, it has all of the attributes we have come to expect from VRBO — and our rental apartment is a lot cheaper than renting hotel rooms for the four of us.

Obviously, I am a big fan of VRBO.

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Times Square was hopping this afternoon when we visited after our show ended and as the sun began to set behind the concrete canyons of Gotham.  We knew it would be crowded, but who can resist a chance to see the Great White Way, revel in the conspicuous consumption of kilowatts, and feel the electrical meters turn as they did when Clark Griswold finally got his Christmas lights to turn on in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation?

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The other day we visited The High Line park, located on Manhattan’s west side. It is one of the coolest, most interesting parks I’ve ever seen.

The High Line is a park built on an abandoned, elevated freight line.  When you walk the park you are strolling along a path several stories above the ground.  The railroad tracks — which are still visible in certain parts of the park — have been supplemented by walking paths, the areas around the paths have been planted with different greenery and grasses, and at different points the park features unique bird feeders, seating areas, and plenty of good photo opportunities, including fine views of the top of the Empire State Building in the distance.  It is wonderful to be able to walk unimpeded by surging traffic and rocketing yellow cabs and jostling crowds and appreciate the interesting vistas offered by this little corner of New York City.

The High Line winds its way from New York’s meatpacking district to West 30th Street, moving past businesses and residential buildings.  You stroll past rooftops, warehouses, billboards, office spaces, backyard grilling areas, and other urban scenes.  It is a whimsical journey, to walk so far above the streets of New York, and at least some of the people who live in the neighboring buildings — including the folks who put up the painted window scene at left — have recognized it and treated it as such.

What a great idea this park was!  It took what was a rusting, derelict structure reflective of urban blight and converted it into a gem of a park that attracts visitors and attention to the neighborhood and has brought restaurants, bars, and residents to the area.  The High Line is owned by the City of New York and maintained and operated by the Friends of the High Line.   If only every city government and civic group were as creative and far-sighted in deciding how to deal with aging city structures!

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According to Ordinance 330(j) of the New York City Municipal Code, if you are in the Big Apple in December you are required to visit the holiday decorations at Rockefeller Center at least once.  (The Rockettes, however, are optional).

Yesterday, we satisfied our legal obligations.

The area around Rockefeller Center was jammed.  The skaters were there, and so was the towering Christmas tree, and golden Prometheus was floating above the ice rink, bringing fire to the chilled masses.  An officious, leather-lunged police officer was trying desperately to keep people from standing on benches to take photos.  Good luck with that, officer!

After slowly moving through the throng, dodging mothers who were aggressively using their children’s strollers to clear a path through the madness and commenting on how the tree was not as large as we thought it would be, we exited on the Fifth Avenue side, past a gantlet of trumpeting angels.  A Salvation Army group was pumping out Christmas music, and the Christmas spirit was heavy in the air.

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Ulysses Grant should be counted as one of the great Americans.

Grant’s two terms as President were marred by scandal, and as a Civil War general he was derided by some as a soulless butcher who attacked relentlessly, without regard for casualties.  Yet when Grant was living, he was revered — because the people of his time recognized that he not only assembled and then led the team of generals that had the fortitude to see the Union through to ultimate victory, but also that his easy terms of surrender and his gentle treatment of the former rebels helped the nation to quickly overcome the deep divisions caused by our bloodiest war.

Grant’s Tomb, located along Riverside Drive near the Columbia University campus, gives a sense of how he was beloved by his contemporaries.  It is a huge mausoleum with a columned dome and other classical features, reached by a wide path shaded by trees along each side.  The inscription above the entrance reads, simply, “Let Us Have Peace.”

Grant and his wife lie in red granite coffins in an open crypt at the well of the Tomb.  If you stand at the foot of their coffins and look up, you can see a representation of the famous scene of General Grant graciously greeting Confederate General Robert E. Lee before accepting the surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia at Appomattox Court House.  It seems fitting that the scene that is visible is not a depiction of a battle or some other feat of arms, but rather the simple handshake greeting that began the process of reunification of a war-torn land.

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Today Richard and I walked the entire length of Central Park, beginning at the intersection of 5th Avenue and Central Park South — 50 blocks in all. By the time we reached the pinnacle of the Great Hill in the northwest corner of the park, the sun was beginning to dip behind the skyscrapers.

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Yesterday we visited the 9/11 Memorial.  It was a moving and sobering reminder of that horrific day.

The Memorial lies at the foot of the Freedom Tower and the other buildings that are being rebuilt on the grounds of the World Trade Center towers.  Although the Memorial is completed, much of the surrounding area is still under construction.

It was a warm, sunny day, and the air was filled with the beeping and buzzing of construction equipment, the drone of heavy trucks, and the shouts of hard hat workers.  For some, the background noise may have detracted from the solemnity of the Memorial itself, but I appreciated the energy and sense of rebuilding that the ongoing construction work reflected.

You get passes for the Memorial on-line.  Admission is free, although donations are encouraged.  You show your pass repeatedly and move through the ubiquitous, airport-like security screening area, then wind your way around a fenced-off construction area until you reach the Memorial grounds.

The Memorial ultimately will consist of a museum — which is unfinished and wasn’t open during our visit — and two large, black, square holes in the ground.  The holes sit on the footprint of the World Trade Center towers and, according to a helpful security guard, are somewhat smaller than the area covered by the actual towers themselves.

The square holes are ringed with ledges, into which the names of those killed on 9/11 are deeply carved.  The victims on Flight 77, for example, appear in one area, the people killed in the World Trade Center in another, and those who died at the Pentagon in yet another.  The appearance and feeling that is created is like that of the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C.

Although some might deem the idea of listing the names of the victims to be derivative, I thought it was a simple, and powerful, representation of the devastation wrought by the terrorists’ attack, and the sheer randomness of the event for those who were killed.  Looking at the names also generates an appreciation for America, in all its melting pot glory, for you can find names suggestive of every ethnic group and national origin.

The name-filled ledges surround two vast, square, holes within holes.  Water rushes over the sides of the two large holes, collects at the bottom, and then tumbles into inner holes that are so deep you cannot see the bottom.  The sound of the rushing water is soothing, and when the breeze is blowing it riffles the falling water, as if the spirits of the dead are moving in the cavernous holes.

The two large holes are found in an expansive plaza, with benches and trees in abundance for those who want to sit and reflect on the events of 9/11 or the loss of a loved one.  According to the security guard, one of the trees is a hardy survivor that was uncovered in the twisted rubble of the fallen Towers, nursed back to health, and ultimately replanted at the site.  At the time of our visit a memorial wreath had been laid at the foot of that tree — and I predict that the story of that little tree will make it a popular stop for those who visit the Memorial grounds.

I seem to recall that some people objected to the design of the 9/11 Memorial.  Having visited, I see no reason for any objection.  I expect that many native New Yorkers, and tourists, will want to gaze into those vast black holes, touch the sharply carved names of the dead, feel the mist from the falling waters, and remember.

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Today we were in lower Manhattan and decided to drop in on Zuccotti Park, lately the home of the Occupy Wall Street gang.  You can find it in the financial district, very close to the location of the Freedom Tower and the 9/11 Memorial.

Zuccotti Park has a sign that says “Open to the public” but, ironically, it was totally blocked off from public access by temporary fencing — presumably because it was being cleaned by a guy riding a street sweeper machine — and there was a significant police presence in the immediate area.  The area also featured a decorated Christmas tree and lots of holiday lighting, rather than tents, so it didn’t bear any resemblance to the encampment of protesters that was the subject of so much media attention.

Still, we could make a few observations.  First, Zuccotti Park is not really much of a “park.”  Instead, I would call it a plaza.  It’s almost entirely covered with concrete and stone, with stone benches and a few trees.  It couldn’t have been a comfortable place to camp, or sleep.  Second, it’s much smaller than I thought it would be — a small square, really.  It’s hard to imagine it was the site of dozens of tents, a working chow line, and so forth.

The Occupy Wall Streeters appear to be largely gone from their former headquarters, although I did see a few people with signs — including one guy who seemed to be protesting Occupy Wall Street and what its leaders had done with the money they received in contributions.

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