Rock: Steady

It has been a busy couple of weeks, to say the least. The program has installed thumbscrews in all the chairs, and insists upon draconian measures of humiliation and lashings for students who don't keep up.

Okay, so that might be an exaggeration. All of my limbs and flesh remain intact; my pride is holding steady.  But I have indeed been very busy.  There have been a few casualties, such as the cleanliness of my kitchen and my store of clean socks, but don't, dear reader, think that anything has been amiss. I have been having adventures a-plenty.

Adventure One: Doodletown
Two weeks ago, Jess and I arranged for a trip to White Plains (a mere 20 minutes North on the train) and beyond. In White Plains, we rented a car. I had not driven since giving up my post in the White Whale, and so was very excited about the prospect. Jess has a learner's permit (because she's a native New Yorker), and was less excited about her own driving, so I was dubbed captain, she navigator.  Our car was a silver Hyundai Accent.

Photo Credits: Jess L.

Once inside, I sort of felt as though I was trapped in an escape pod for a spaceship; the thing was tiny, had no visibility, and because it was an automatic transmission, moved on its own. The loss of control in an automatic now freaks me out immensely, and I spent a great deal of time on the trip reminding myself not to use my left leg. To do so would have led to hitting the E-Brake rather than a clutch.

Nonetheless: We set off, and found ourselves a place called Doodletown. Here's what Wikipedia says about Doodletown:*

Doodletown was first settled in 1762, at least partly by descendants of French Hugenots. The name is said to derive from the Dutch for "dead valley", or Dood Dal, with the "town" suffix added later by English-speaking settlers. Early residents worked as loggers and miners, and the remains of the mines are still visible today. There were also small farms and businesses. 
The settlement was a crossroads for soldiers during the Revolutionary War during battles at Bear Mountain and Stony Point along the Hudson River. For this reason, it may have been immortalized in the Revolutionary tune "Yankee Doodle", but this is probably apocryphal. 
In the 1890s, Thomas Edison bought property in Doodletown to prospect for iron ore, although iron mines had been developed in the neighborhood at a much earlier date. Bear Mountain began to be developed as a park in the early 20th century. 
By the 1920s, Doodletown had a school, a church, several small businesses, two cemeteries and approximately 70 homes. At least several families had lived there for generations. Around this era, military and tourism-related enterprises on nearby Iona Island employed residents, as did the Palisades Interstate Park Commission. Other residences were maintained as second homes or were inhabited by retired people.
Bear Mountain State Park began to expand around 1920, in part by purchasing property from the landowners in Doodletown. By the 1950s, most of the residents had moved away, many to nearby Stony Point or into southern Orange County. Those who refused to sell lost their land through eminent domain by 1965, and most of the remaining structures were demolished or disassembled and moved out by the late 1960s. Debris was buried, the roads were closed, and the surrounding woods were allowed to grow over the properties. In the early 1970s, a dam was built on the Timp Brook, creating a sizable pond. The last remaining building, the stone school house, was kept as a shelter for hikers until vandalism caused the park commission to tear it down in 1980.

Jess and I actually wound up seeing very few remains of anything, but we did tromp around in the woods for several hours, and enjoyed some nice views.

Photo Credit: Jess L.

Photo Credit: Jess L.

Adventure Two: Em Comes to Town

Last week, Em came to stay with me for part of her Fall break.  Although Much of the time I was a terrible host because I was doing work, we managed a few exciting times. A few f'rinstances:

a) On Friday, we went to "Danny's Bar and Restaurant," which has caught my eye before. It claims to be a Mediterranean style Restaurant. What it actually is, however, is apparently the last haven for the Russians in my neighborhood.  A Russian man smoking a cigar invited us in. A Russian woman, fully decked out in Moscow fashion, was surprised that we were old enough to order drinks. 

There was no restaurant, much less a Mediterranean style one. What was Mediterranean style, or somehow intended to be, was the decor. I guess.  Stuccoed into every wall were bunches of grapes, bananas, coconuts, palm trees, and waves. An archway to the back of the establishment was adorned by two figures: one, a bronze naked youth reaching forward on point, the other, a very busty bronze naked lady arching backwards. Their fingers touched at the peak.

This photo is poorly framed because I had to
pretend I was looking for reception so the
Russian men wouldn't think I was photographing
them.

I would say it was all very classy and tasteful, but I think we all know that would be a lie.

Em has declared it her new favorite place in the Bronx, and says we will be returning.

b) On Saturday, we went to the Botanical Gardens. There isn't anything inherently thrilling and adventuresome about this. It was just a nice day for a walk, and there were lots of plants to look at.

c) Also on Saturday, we went out in the City. This involved eating at a restaurant that not only was nearly empty the entire time we were there, but only had half of the menu items available. What we managed to get, though, was delicious.  It involved prancing through a halloween costume store and trying on all the masks, hiding from people in the Strand, eating dumplings in Union Square, and walking around on the Lower East side.   On this walk, we passed a scene. A commotion. Some hubbub. Curious as to what it was, we noticed the police detaining a rather small man and talking to another, who had been the victim of a crime. 

The man had been stabbed in the neck with a fork, and was bleeding profusely. Not into a bandage, though. Into an entire roll of paper towels.  The situation was under control, and the victim was fine; the crowd around the victim, being consummate hipsters, were all standing as close to the action as possible while pretending not to notice it.

Adventure 3: The Terrors of Apartment Living

This one is all me. This morning, while it was still dark outside and I had no desire to recognize the world, I woke up. I woke up because of a strange hissing noise and the smell of a small furry creature on fire. I sat straight up in bed, worried that I'd been having a nightmare about a cat bonfire or something, and tried to shake it off, but it was all too real. So, I focused my little ears, and tried to determine if something was ablaze or if my gas stove was about to explode. 

Then I realized my room was warm. The radiator had finally been turned on.  Having not lived in a place with an honest-to-goodness radiator before, I was woefully unfamiliar of the sounds and smells it produces when it first kicks on for the season. The places I've lived in Portland either had fully customizable heat, or the building  regulated the electric baseboards. In New York, I've pretty much always lived in places with pipes that make the place excessively hot in the winter.  There was 6M in the dorm, which would always manage to be 85 degrees even in January; Baxter Street, which was probably just heated by ire and spite; Metropolitan Ave, which was a basement apartment that had once been a laundry room, so acted as a sauna; and naked Anthony's place (above Black Betty) was warm enough that Anthony didn't mind being naked.  But none of these places had visible, monstrous machines that hissed and clanged and rattled. 

I don't mind, of course. If it keeps me warm, and I don't have to pay extra for the privilege of not having my fingers freeze off, they can clang and rattle 'til judgment day.

Notes:

* Yeah, I cut and pasted that. What of it?