240 Mulberry

One of the places where I am currently working is located at 240 Mulberry Street. It's now zoned in an area called Nolita (North of Little Italy). Mulberry Street, along with some of the nearby streets such as Christopher and Elizabeth, are historically so important in the history of Italian immigration into the states. These days so little of Little Italy remains and sadly it's more a sideshow than possesing the colour and flavour it once did. My workplace has a downstairs bar and then a bar/restaurant on street level, which goes back to a 'beer' garden. Yesterday I saw a photograph which had to be at least 100 years old. It was of an old Italian man standing at the front of the shop with his daughter beside him. Hanging from the front window were curing hams. The photograph was one that provoked the imagination to consider the numerous stories that must have evolved within the walls of this establishment as it has changed one business enterprise to another over the decades. Downstairs, built into the wall is an old brick bread oven. It's almost as deep, fourteen feet, as it is wide and like the photograph, is a beautiful remnant of days gone by. Talking with the owner yesterday he mentioned that bread was not been the only thing to have been baked in the oven. Across the street a notorious family once ran this neighbourhood in their 'traditional' way. When someone made trouble for them, the oven in the basement of 240 Mulberry was lit and the individual met a fiery finish. Sour dough anyone?

they're like...um spiritual

Over heard in a bar in Nolita: (North Of Little Italy)
Lady at bar chatting to heavily tattooed barman;

Lady: So you've got quite a lot of tat's?
Barman: Yeah they're dragons. I've got dragons on this arm, and on this arm. I've got dragons on both legs, and I've got a dragon on my chest.
Lady: Oh, so were you born in the year of the dragon?
Barman: No. I just missed out. I'm the cow.

in vino veritas

One of the things that NY does really well are its bars. I'm working in a restaurant that has two bars connected to it. I'm happy to work the floor rather than be stuck behind a bar. Bartenders sometimes work the same bar for years and over the course of time establish co-dependent relationships with their regulars, generally men, and usually alcoholics. The trouble is that both need each other. For tips on how to live the barfly consults the barman. The barman on the other hand, only ever consults his tips. The trouble with drunks, when you are working in proximity to them, is that they believe they have shared something profound with you over the course of your shift and their imbibing. Waxing philosophical one minute they mutate to becoming morose or elated the next. In most cases this follows with becoming rude, arrogant and self important. A mimicry of bravery returned to night after night. If it's bad for the barman, it's worse for women who work the bar as well. Quite often finding themselves first in the mother-carer-nurse-nurturer role, doling out tried and tested platitudes with grace and forbearance they are then regarded, as the night goes on and the drunk gets drunker, as the wanton hussy-whore-hooker. I'm not saying that there is no care nor empathy for the 'regular', but there is very little remembered beyond a few shared laughs usually at their expense the next time everyone turns up for their shift and recalls the night or the week before, when old so and so said or did something or other again. There are no great words of wisdom from minds which are deserving of better. It's enough to drive a man to drink!

Overheard on boat Cruise

Tour Operator: And for those passengers on the right side of the boat you'll get a close up view of The Statue of Liberty....closed since 2001.

This photograph is of a 1962 EK Holden. My first car, purchased from lawn mowing money at the age of 16 years from Mrs Pellizzari for $450. She reduced her price from $500 because I'd paid her consistently within a short period of time. Her husband had stripped the paint job and tarred the chassis of the car to prevent rust and then had it re-painted and it looked good as new. Now, the car needed work, but every now and then my neighbourhood buddies such as Bryan (BB), and Steven (Scratchy) would tinker with the engine, changing spark plugs and leads and removing engine parts only to put them back soon after with a remarkable insignificance achieved. The inside of the car was immaculate, beautiful trim and retaining the odour of having just rolled off the show room floor. Every now and then, we'd start it up and take it for a spin. The engine needed some work here and there but it just kept going, refusing to quit. I'd get a 24hr registration pass to drive it through the slick wet streets of Cairns late at night. Then teenage foolishness set in and bad decisions made too quick had me sell this beautiful old car for a greedy sum so that I could throw money away on an overseas trip to the red heart of Arizona. The car got broken down into bits and pieces and apparently rests in someone's Far Northern backyard refusing to yield to time and to dust. Which brings me to my Apple Mac Book purchased just under two years ago, on borrowed money, for the sum of two thousand dollars. It quit two days ago. Its hard drive dead. A number of procedures have been conducted to attempt resurrection yet I find myself complacent about it having a second life. Instead, I ponder dreamily about my never surrendering EK and the fact that the people who made that particular object made it to last, instead of working out a sinister way of extracting as much money as they can from their customers... Nostalgic? Idealistic? Sure.

Overheard on Mulberry Street

Drunk at a bar to a woman who walks in. 

Drunk: You look like you've got a lot of money. 

Woman: Thanks, that's the look I was going for. 

Two legs good. Four legs bad.

So here you see the prominent central building which is the United Nations. In an effort to design a space which had a symbolic relationship to the principles of democracy the architects came up with the concept that no-one should have a corner office. (ie: an office with better views than their co-workers)....So instead they BRICKED IN THE ENTIRE WALL!! ON EITHER SIDE!!!!!...hmmm I guess they didn't think about the poor schmucks working in centrally located offices now with windowless walls to stare at all day!!!....And then....left of frame the other large dark building is Trump Tower...the office workers there enjoy unrestricted 360 degree views of Manhatten and beyond....hmm....seems some are more equal than others....