Suburban Malaise

Terrorized by the GOP?

Well, the Republicans have succeeded where the terrorists haven't. Even though we've had "alerts" galore, it never stopped people from going into New York. Usually, this platform would be jammed. But thanks to the Republican Convention, the trains are wonderfully deserted. We can stretch out and pile up our books and newspapers on the seats beside us with no worries about having to share it. It's so quiet we don't need to turn up our iPods to drown out loud-mouthed fellow riders. And we're super safe, there are policemen patrolling the train with bomb-sniffing dogs. They go up and down the train the whole ride. And when we get to Penn Station, there will be even more police and a wonderful pedestrian plaza that wasn't there before. Who says the Republicans don't like New York? I just wish the sky really was purple.

In Transit

Summer is a time when we're all a little disenfranchised. Either we're on a vacation, or wishing we were on one—or on one that's not turning out the way we think it should. I spent last week escorting my daughter to a performing arts camp in New York. I had the day to myself and spent it listening to software demos at the Apple store in Soho, going to museums and walking around the city blissfully alone in the crowd. The city was full of tourists; because of the cheap dollar, there seemed to be loads of Europeans and Latin Americans. They walked slowly in large groups and got the native New Yorkers incredibly frustrated. But I was happy to be forced to take my time because I felt I had all the time in the world. I used my newly acquired Photoshop expertise to fiddle with this photo of Lambertville—I'll face my new batch of city photos later.

Stranded

Today on my way home on New Jersey Transit, the lights dimmed, the air conditioning went off and the train slowly came to a stop. The overhead lines had lost power. Everyone on the train groaned and starting dialing their cell phones to announce they were going to be late. I listened to my iPod and did the crossword puzzle. A woman walked up and down the aisles scrounging newspapers to read. The train grew slowly hotter as we sat in the sun outside Secaucus. We sat for over an hour (actually not all that bad by New Jersey Transit standards). Then at last, the train started. It was a long, miserable ride home and the train made every single stop. The downside of mass transit.

Travel Backlash

We came back from the West and cowered in the house for a day in a state of recovery. Travel is traumatic. Now that I'm back in my usual routine, I can finally look at the photos I took in Colorado and Wyoming. The sense of space is overwhelming. And isolating. This is the part of America that doesn't seem to give a damn for the rest of the world—and why should they? As far as they're concerned, they're king of the mountain. It really is another country.

Airport Netherworld

We flew out to Wyoming for a week to visit my in-laws. It was crisp and dry in the West, the way it always seems in comparison to the East. On the flight home, it felt like we bounced over all the thunderstorms in North America. And when we landed, there was no place for the plane to go. So many flights were grounded because of the weather the plane sat on the tarmac for over an hour before a departure gate became free. Overseas flights weren't affected, so we got to watch planes go to Portugal, India and Scandinavia—places that sounded impossibly exciting after Wyoming. Finally we disembarked. Newark Airport couldn't be more different from the pristine Denver Airport, with its hordes of affluent (and mostly) white people. Newark was its usual chaotic, multicultural self. It was good to be home.

Washington Square Redux

I found this photo of Washington Square in my iPhoto library. I tried to bring back its psychedelic history via Photoshop. I remember it from the old hippie days, but now it's just tourists and NYU students. It's now just another gentrified urban space, but one can sit in it unmolested. A small blessing.

Walking Into Spring

This afternoon I took a walk with my new little camera, which shoots both photos and videos. I turned on the camera and did my usual three miles. I came back and opened up the movies in QuickTime. I'll put them into iMovie and add a GarageBand soundtrack. It will probably end up being a total embarrassment. But a fun and creative one.

Diane Arbus Family Albums

I got a chance to get into Manhattan today and had hoped to check out some art galleries. I got no further than the Diane Arbus show at the Grey Art Gallery at NYU. I was so depressed after seeing it, I just kind of checked out . . .her unflattering photos contain so much ridicule towards her subjects and do they enlarge our understanding of them, or of Arbus herself? Reading the biographical material about her, I found she had a wealthy, privileged upbringing during the Depression, but her family’s wealth, instead of giving her a sense of entitlement, seems to have instead been a source of emotional isolation for her. I met a friend for dinner later who said Arbus was chronically depressed—and there was nothing else that could be said for her, except to feel sympathy for her unhappiness. But what hideous, unflattering photographs . . .

Urban Loneliness

An absolutely awful rainy day here. And now it's wet and foggy. I rented Lost in Translation and watched it in a rush because I had to get it back to the video store in time to not pay a fine. It's hard to show real loneliness on film in its most interiorized way. The characters in this film were surrounded by people and activity that connoted nothing but emptiness. The film was attentive to the in-between moments of life, something the narrative-driven American film industry usually doesn't do very well or at all. I usually find such urban dislocation liberating—an excuse to wander around, go to museums, shop, etc. Obviously the characters in this film weren't up for it.

Escape from Cleveland

Out of loyalty for my hometown, Cleveland, I bought the American Splendor DVD today. It's a terrific film, even though the setting cuts a little too close for me. The neighborhood Pekar lives in is where I grew up. All those little brick front buildings from the twenties and the old apartment buildings in the film were part of my universe when I was a kid. I escaped to New York to go to art school in Brooklyn, into another grim neighborhood, ironically. It took me a long time to be able to live in a "nice" neighborhood. Now the old parts of Cleveland Heights and my neighborhood in Brooklyn, Fort Greene, are gentrified and actually respectable. Now where will the poor people live?