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#last train to rockaway
coneyislandbabey · 1 year
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going to california. -> e. roundtree
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WARNINGS: some swearing, alcohol, sappy shit, use of my own personal headcanon that eddie's full name is edwin.
SYNOPSIS: you move to Los Angeles, and are surprised to run into an old childhood friend. word count: 3,351
The heat was different in Los Angeles. Not like New York City, where you’d spent the last few years of your life; all humid, thick walls of wet air that cloy inside your lungs and make you hot from the inside out, relentless, merciless warmth even in the dead of night, even with the windows open laying naked on the bed. No, here the air was thin and dry, the egg-yolk sun warming but not ruthlessly so. You stepped out of the car, joints creaking, and swallowed up a great lungful of that thin bright air, felt the clean glare of the sun bouncing off the hot car and onto your face. New. Everything you’d been hoping for already. 
After graduating from your Pittsburgh high school a semester early, you had booked it onto a train to Manhattan about five seconds after your diploma was in your hands, getting a job in the mailroom of a newspaper and crashing on your cousin’s couch, sleeping only a few hours a night and spending every other waking moment writing or wandering the five boroughs sniffing out experiences to write about. Writing was your lifeblood, and it had been practically since you’d first learned how to hold a pen. You never knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life– where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see, where you wanted to end up– you only knew that you’d be writing the whole way through. And that’s what you did for those few years in New York. You wrote feverishly, a woman possessed. Your cousin complained daily of the little green desk lamp you kept on at all hours of the night, sitting in your sleep shirt with your notebook propped on the arm of the couch, fingers bruised from the ever-present pressure of pen against skin. 
It worked out for you, though. All those sleepless nights, accepting strangers’ invitations to parties in Brooklyn or Alphabet City or even the Rockaways, dropping acid in people’s basements or getting drunk on the subway, even rising in the ranks of your job at the paper until you were a real and true reporter: after a year and a half, you had a half-presentable essay collection and a publisher who wanted  to make your wildest dreams come true. And that was that; your essay collection was published a little over six months later, and every week it climbed higher on the best seller’s list. In the wake of your immediate success, your publisher wanted to start working on a second publication, another collection of essays or short stories or a novel, whatever you wanted, they just wanted your name on another book in their arsenal. You readily agreed, of course– this was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. But you walked out of that meeting, and onto the streets of Manhattan, and all you felt was suffocation where there used to be inspiration. 
It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the city who knew you, and therefore knew your more impulsive tendencies, when you told them you’d bought a shitty old car for a hundred bucks and were planning to roadtrip your way to L.A. You hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since before you’d moved to New York, but you’d seen the old thing with the ‘for sale’ sign tucked into the dash and you knew you had to have it. Already the inspiration was pouring in; a novelized account of your roadtrip across the country and ensuing introduction into Los Angeles society. The idea consumed your brain until there was room for nothing else, until you turned right around on the sidewalk and bought the car then and there. You spent the next 24 hours on a goodbye tour, visiting everyone you had come to love in those last few years, and then your meager belongings were all shoved into the backseat of your new acquisition and you were sitting in the driver’s seat, hoping to god you still remembered which pedal was the gas and which was the brakes. 
You made it to the opposite coast after two weeks of seedy motels, eating roadside burgers with strangers, and climbing up to the roof of the car every night to lay out and see the stars the way you never could living in the city. And here you were, a week into your new Los Angeles life, having just spent most of your book earnings on buying a tiny, dilapidated house in Laurel Canyon with huge windows and the perfect little overgrown backyard for you to sit and write in. You felt it in your bones already, that this was where life would start to become important for you. 
***
You had met Brandi the day you moved in. She and a few friends lived in the house across the street, and being the only one home at the time, she came over to help you move your stuff in when she noticed you unloading the car in the morning. She had a golden California tan and big blonde hair, and the kindest smile you’d ever seen. She was your best friend five minutes after meeting her. 
“You have to come by tonight,” she said by way of greeting as she let herself in the front door. It was late afternoon, and you were stretched out across the couch on your stomach, editing something you’d written in your notebook on the road trip here. Old habits die hard. She worked as a cocktail waitress at The Troubadour, and in the few weeks you’d been living in Laurel Canyon, she’d tried to get you to go nearly every time she had a shift, to no avail. 
“I don’t know, Brand–” you started, flipping your hair over your shoulder shifting to face her. 
“No, man. Enough of this writing bubble thing you got going on. You’re coming out tonight,” she said sternly. You couldn’t help the laugh you let out– Brandi was spot on. Every time she asked you to go out, you told her you weren’t interested because you were trying to double down and polish up the road trip writing you’d done on the way here. “How are you supposed to– how did you say it? ‘Be inducted into Los Angeles Society’ if you never go out and see Los Angeles society?”
“Okay, fair point,” you responded, sitting up. “I’ll go tonight, alright? You got me.” 
Brandi grinned, clapping her hands together in delight. “Okay, Yaz and Lynn will walk over and get you and you’ll all drive in together, alright? And I’ll see you there.” 
“Sounds good,” you nodded. 
“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I’ll see you later!” With that, Brandi disappeared down the front steps just as fast as she’d arrived. You sighed, closing your notebook and falling back onto the couch. After your few weeks of relative seclusion, you were more than ready to get back out into the world and have some fun, and yet, there was something uneasy growing in your chest. Actually going out in the city, that meant really starting this new part of your life, and well, honestly, that was a little terrifying. Better to rip the band-aid off now instead of rotting inside the house any longer. 
***
A few hours later, you were dressed in a pair of bell bottoms and a sheer orange tie-front top with big bell sleeves, your makeup and hair more done and put together than they’d been in months. You observed yourself in the mirror one last time, before lighting a cigarette and loping down the stairs to where Brandi’s two roommates were waiting, equally glammed up, for you. You sat in the backseat of Yaz’s car on the way over, window all the way down and your chin resting on the sill. You were used to city sights, you knew your neighborhood and so many others in New York intimately, but L.A. was different, and so thrilling. 
The Troubadour was different from the clubs you’d frequented in New York, but it still held some level of familiarity, and you were hit with an unexpected pang of nostalgia when you walked in with the girls. You grabbed Yaz and Lynn’s hands and pulled them farther in, toward the stage where an upbeat band was in the middle of a song, and immediately began dancing, trying to shake off the more complicated feelings of being here in this new place. When the song ended, you whistled loudly for the band, who were packing themselves up and off stage, making way for the next one. 
“Our next band is one we know and love here, give it up for The Six!” a silky-voiced man announced into the microphone before vacating the stage. In his place, a band made up of four guys and one blonde woman took the stage, setting up their instruments and getting ready. You cheered with everyone else in the crowd, though you weren’t familiar with them the way the locals clearly were. Within a few seconds, the guitars had struck up, and the front man was at the microphone, lashing out the first lyrics of a song. 
And you realized. No, you didn’t know them the way the locals did, but you knew them. The boys, at least. You recognized Graham Dunne first, that cherubic face and big baby blues the exact same as you’d last seen him in high school. Warren Rojas was behind him on the drums, unmistakable mop of curly black hair dancing as if it had a mind of its own on top of his bobbing head. The front-man, you guessed, was Graham’s brother Billy, just familiar enough to place the face despite never knowing the older boy back home. And, sure enough, there was Eddie Roundtree on bass. The last time you’d seen him, he was just a lanky kid with a guitar that he still gripped awkwardly in his too-big hands. (‘Not ‘too big”, you remember him telling you back then. ‘The rest of me just hasn’t caught up yet.”) He’d grown his hair out, you noted. Grown broader in the shoulders, too. His hands were no longer comically large, compared to the rest of him. He had such an easy command of the bass he was playing, so relaxed on the stage, like he belonged and he knew it. It was kind of hard for you to reconcile this version of him with the juvenile one you used to know. 
And they were good, too. You could see the way a group like them could become something great, something once in a lifetime. They weren’t there yet, but you could vividly see just how it could happen for them. Eddie Roundtree and the Dunne boys and Warren Rojas, all in Los Angeles at the same time as you, all of you so far from home. You couldn’t help the startled laugh that bubbled up and out of you. Lynn turned a questioning look on you, but you didn’t have time to turn and start explaining yourself before Eddie’s eyes swept your way, probably drawn by the laughter. Those brown eyes settled on your own, lazily, for a few seconds, before widening ever so slightly. His hands slowed, but never faltered, on the strings for just a second. Something zinged through your chest when you realized that he recognized you, too, even after all these years. 
You watched Eddie for the entirety of his band’s set. You couldn’t help it– his fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar were mesmerizing, and besides, you couldn’t get over the fact that this was the same boy from your childhood, that all of them were boys who’d slept through your shared classes, who had walked to your house after school to drop off your homework when you were home sick, who you commiserated with about running the mile in high school gym class. 
Brandi found you during the last song, pulling you into a hug and squealing about how happy she was that you actually came. Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from the stage and gave your best friend your full attention, allowing her to drag you back to the bar so she could buy you a drink. By the time you had a drink in hand, The Six’s set was over and a new band was coming on, so you stayed back by the bar even after Brandi had to leave you alone to go do her job. 
“I knew it was you, bluebird.” You whirled around at the nickname, coming face to face with Eddie. He was a few inches taller than you remembered, smiling down at you with a curious mix of surprise and something else swirling in his brown eyes. 
“I haven’t heard that nickname in years,” you laughed. “Hi, Edwin.” 
He groaned. “Nobody calls me that, woman.” 
“I always have,” you pointed out, arching an eyebrow. 
“Yeah, that’s true. What are you doing in L.A?” 
“Writing, mostly,” you shrugged. “I’ve got one book out and now the publisher wants another. You know how it is.” 
Eddie’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Glad to hear you’re still writing. I remember you back in high school, always carrying that notebook around that you’d never let anyone look at.”
You laughed, recalling the notebook yourself. You had treated that thing like it was your baby. “Yeah, well if you’re curious about my writing, you could buy my book and see.”
“First thing on my agenda tomorrow is to go out and get a copy,” he said easily, and you snorted. 
“Good, you better like it. And what about you guys? When did you get here?”
“Few months ago. We’ve been playing gigs at a few regular spots while we put together an album.”
“I want a copy of that record as soon as it comes out!”
“You’ll be the first one to get one outside of the band,” Eddie grinned. “Where are you staying?”
“I bought a place in Laurel Canyon a few weeks ago. It’s tiny, but still a hell of a lot bigger than the living room I was sleeping in in New York,” you laughed. 
“That’s where we are, too,” Eddie said, jerking his head in the direction of backstage. “And, New York? What have you been up to since high school?”
“Many things, Edwin, many things,” you grinned. 
Eddie stayed quiet, all soft smile and soft eyes aimed in your direction. You felt something long dormant start to shift in your chest. 
“I’m really glad to see you, bluebird,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. A sentiment just for the two of you to hear. 
You nudged his shoulder affectionately with your own. “Me too, Roundtree.”
“What do you say about us getting together some night soon? You can fill me in on this whole New York story,” Eddie suggested. 
“Only if you tell me how you all wound up here, doing this,” you responded. 
“Deal,” Eddie said, sticking out his hand to shake. You took it; his palm was warm and calloused beneath your own. 
***
“It was not like that!” you insisted through your laughter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Roundtree.” 
Three nights later, and you and Eddie were sitting on your living room floor, bottle of scotch between you, very much on your way to being drunk and well into reminiscing about your shared high school days. He had shown up at your door a few hours earlier with a smile on his face, and the scotch and a copy of your book in his hands. You laughed so hard at the fact that he’d actually gone out and bought a copy of the book that you almost forgot to ask him how the hell he knew where you lived. Sheepishly, he told you that he’d seen you talking with Brandi and asked her after you left that first night. 
“I promise, birdy, Jimmy McKenna was gone for you for years. You drove the poor kid crazy because he would try to flirt with you all the time and you just never picked up on it,” Eddie explained through his own laughter. You sorted quickly through memories of the boy Eddie was talking about, and as what he said slowly clicked into place, you only began to laugh harder. 
“Oh, god,” you said, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I have always been such an idiot.”
“Not an idiot, just oblivious,” Eddie countered. “You were too wrapped up in your writing to notice anyone around you.”
“Not true! I noticed you,” you said defensively. 
Eddie’s eyebrows raised slightly, a split second look of surprise washing over his features before they settled back into that soft smile he always seemed to be wearing around you. He took another swig of whisky, humming. “Lucky me, then.”
You scoffed, trying to cover the way your heart stuttered with another drink of whiskey. “You were one of the only people I liked hanging out with back then, Ed. I liked stopping to watch you and Graham and Warren mess around with your instruments in the garage whenever I walked by. When I took off to the city, I really did miss you.” 
“Well, if it means anything, I missed you, too. We all did,” Eddie said. His voice was softer now, more serious, matching your own. “Nobody knew where you went, you were just gone when we got back from winter break.” 
“I just had to get outta there, you know?” you sighed. “I worked my ass off so I could graduate early. I had all these visions of the life I wanted to live, and it was so big. I was so focused on getting there that I didn’t even realize there would be anything to miss until it was all gone.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean. Don’t tell the guys this, but even now I sometimes miss Pittsburgh,” he admitted. 
“Me too,” you nodded. “I just keep collecting places to miss. Pittsburgh first, and now New York, too. I felt so suffocated there by the end, too, and now? Some nights I can’t even sleep because I’m not back on that awful couch in my cousin’s apartment, listening to the Manhattan traffic.” 
“Guess that’s life, right? You just keep collecting things to miss,” Eddie said. At some point, he had shuffled closer to you, both of you sitting with your backs leaning against the bottom of the couch. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m really happy I don’t have to miss you anymore, bluebird.”
You looked up, and there were those eyes, big and brown and full of affection, so close. Looking right at you, right through you, like he could see all your guts and bones and thoughts and desires all at once. Riding the tide of whiskey-fueled courage and extreme affection you were feeling for the man sitting next to you, you reached out, palm against his cheek, and pulled his face to yours. The kiss was slow and languid, noses nudging softly against skin, Eddie’s mouth gentle against your own. His hand moved to rest on your hip, a warm and comforting pressure against your skin. 
When he pulled away, your breath catched at the sight of the silly little smirk gracing his face. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that the entire time I’ve known you.”
“Oh fuck off Eddie, don’t tell me you had a crush on me in high school too and that’s just another thing I was too oblivious to realize,” you said, lightly shoving his shoulder. 
“Okay, I won’t tell you if you kiss me again,” he said, grinning.  Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his collar and pulled his face back to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips, which only made you want to hold him closer, to make up for all the years you’d gone without him in your life. 
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inukag-archive · 2 years
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hi! do you have any recommendations for inukag fics that have a focus on inuyasha’s full demon form? i’m thinking stuff like kagome being the only one who’s able to call out to him or calm him down while he’s in that form, and all the angst that might apply >:3c i don’t mind if it’s set in the canon universe or if it’s AU~ thank you in advance; i love your blog! ❤️💚
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We hear you Anons! Sink your teeth into this list:
Mating Season Series by @clearwillow (E)
Summary: Inuyasha has a problem - it's mating season for youkai - and he's doing everything in his power to ignore the call. When the new moon comes and goes, Inuyasha is faced with two more problems, and they're both eyeing Kagome.
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Last Train to Rockaway by @neutronstarchild (E)
Summary: Kagome is bone-tired from her long day when she encounters the type of asshole who has the gall to smoke on the subway train. After she confronts him, both their lives veer off into completely different directions. How will Kagome handle this mysterious stranger with red eyes, silver hair, and so much confidence it’s sexy? How will Inuyasha deal with the lost memories from his full moon night? But like the last stop of the last train of the night, there are times that your destination is inevitable.
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Side Effects by KingBaka (E)
Summary: *COMPLETE* Inuyasha finally gets what he’s always wanted, with no apparent side effects. To say he lets it go to his head would be an understatement.
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Only The Right Medicine by @dawnrider (E)
Summary: Modern AU: Kagome is new to the small town where humans and youkai live in relative peace. But there is a disruption of that peace in the late daiyoukai's hanyou son who is at risk of being overcome. Maybe the new addition to town is exactly what he needs...
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Hear Me by @lavendertwilight89 (E)
Summary: Inuyasha and Kagome have gotten closer than ever. While Sango and Kagome bathe, they get an unexpected guest and it pushes Inuyasha over the edge. Can Kagome calm the youkai within?
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Red Eyes, Warm Heart by @splendentgoddess (X)
Summary: Revised & updated! Inuyasha awakens from being transformed to discover he's raped Kagome. Now he's terrified she'll never forgive him, but finds her reaction to the situation a bit surprising. Story edited and extended! Read it again, for the first time!
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Rock Bottom by @lavendertwilight89light (E)
Summary: On the night of Inuyasha's weakness, he is attacked and ends up at death's door. Kagome works at the hospital he is brought to and ends up locked in the room with him as a full youkai. Will they be able to get along? Will Inuyasha survive?
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The Beast in the Basement by @neutronstarchild (T)
Summary: He didn’t know why he kept the beast alive - now only a shell of the brother he spent all those years detesting. Now he simply wished he had had more time. But every time he drew his sword to end the beast’s suffering, some small voice in his head stayed his hand. “Have hope, she will come.”
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The Way You See Me by KingBaka (M)
Summary: ‘If I transform again, with these claws of mine…I might even tear you up, Kagome.’ For the first time, Kagome must face Inuyasha’s full-youkai transformation alone. Will she be able to reach him, or will Inuyasha’s worst fears come true?
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Base Instincts by ImaniJoain (E)
Summary: When Inuyasha is lost to his youkai half, Kagome must find a way to convince him to return to himself.
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Demon Nature by @shardetector (E)
Summary: He spoke low and gently, although his voice was gruff with his demon still so close to the surface, “You saved me wench, now I’ll repay the favor.” With that, his muscles bunched in his legs as he sprung up and out of the well, a red blur in the night as he made his way through the forest to his destination. His precious cargo held safely to his chest, as he raced to save her with his demonic speed.
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Augmented by @anisaanisa (M)
Summary: Inuyasha is a lucky guy. Managing to stay on the right side of the track in a metropolis that near dragged its inhabitants into degeneracy was a feat in and of itself. So what if he hated his job? So what if his best friend was overbearing and his so-called guardian was crazy? None of that matters when you can barely remember your own name.
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Trust Fall by @superpixie42 (E)
Summary: In the months since returning to the Feudal Era, Kagome and Inuyasha have become closer than ever. Their marriage is going well, so when Kagome learns that Inuyasha has chosen not to perform a demon soul-bonding ceremony with her, she's heart broken and immediately jumps to several conclusions. None of them good. Can Inuyasha make her understand his hesitancy and mend their broken trust?
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freshdotdaily · 2 months
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A lot of y'all know I been obsessed with Rammellzee for a hot second now. I don't have the crazy obsession y'all have w/ Basqiuat, or Andy Warhol. But of that downtown scene, I reaaaally loved Haring as a yute dem and I really fucked with A. Charles just off seeing their work publicly all around me.
But once I found Ramm, it was another revelation. A convergence of a lot of shit I like wrapped in one enigmatic weirdo artist's ideas to pick apart and break down. Bruh, this nigga straddles genius and mental illness in a wild way. There's a touch of Rammellzee in MF DOOM.
One of the reasons I liked the young rapper Wiki when I found him in 2012, (outside of this video) is because him/his crew "Ratking" refers to "Letter Racers". I instantly thought, "yo, this kid is tapped in!".
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Also, I'm guilty for really obsessing over late 80's and 90's era NYC culture. Y'all wasn't outside, but there's just something super ill about that downtown time/space that incubated so much of our culture from my hometown. Alex Corporan (of Supreme's OG crew) summed it thusly: "The ‘90s in NYC lands as the last of the epic, raw, untouchable, unstoppable, fearless times for life. You're unable to replicate the experience of what was happening in New York during this time. Skateboarding, music, nightlife, art, fashion... you name it! 2000-2004 held onto that energy for a bit, but from 1990-1999 you grew up real fast and experienced shit in light speed."
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Anyways, NY Times did a piece I wanna hit y'all with. I sprinkled in some video/links/pics for razzle-dazzle. Long live Rammellzee! In the late nineteen-seventies, the sociologist Nathan Glazer had grown weary of riding New York’s graffiti-covered subways. The names of young vandals, who identified themselves as “writers” rather than as artists, were everywhere—inside, outside, sometimes stretching across multiple train cars. Glazer didn’t know who these writers were, or whether their transgressive spirit ever manifested itself in violent crimes, but that didn’t matter. The daily confrontation with graffiti suggested a city under siege. “The signs of official failure are everywhere,” he wrote in an influential 1979 essay. Graffiti, with its casual anarchy and cryptic syntax, offered glimpses into a “world of uncontrollable predators.” In the nineties, Glazer’s essay would help inspire the concept of “broken windows” policing—a theory that preserving the appearance of calm, orderly neighborhoods can foster peace and civility.
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Graffiti has always had this kind of metaphorical power. It is somehow more than art or destruction (even though it is both), and it prompts awe or dread, depending on your tolerance for disorder. For every Glazer, there were romantics like Norman Mailer, who had written the text for a book of photographs elevating graffiti to the status of “faith.” From his perspective, graffiti forced the upper crust to reckon with the names and the fugitive dreams of a forgotten underclass: “You hit your name and maybe something in the whole scheme of the system gives a death rattle.”
Few people understood and internalized this power as deeply as the artist, rapper, and theoretician Rammellzee (which he styled as The ramm:ell:zee). He believed that his time in the train yards and the tunnels of New York gave him a vision for how to destroy and rebuild our world. He was born in 1960 and grew up in Far Rockaway, Queens. His birth name is a closely guarded secret; he legally changed it to his artistic tag in 1979. (He also insisted that The ramm:ell:zee was an “equation,” not a name.) Little is known about his youth, aside from passing aspirations to study dentistry (he was good with his hands) and to be a model (in a 1980 catalogue, he is identified as Mcrammellzee).
Ramm—as he became known—believed that language enforced discipline, and that whoever controlled it could steer people’s thoughts and imaginations. His hope wasn’t to replace English; he wanted to annihilate it from the inside out. His generation grew up after urban flight had devastated New York’s finances and infrastructure. Ramm channelled the chaos into a spectacular personal mythology, drawn from philology, astrophysics, and medieval history. He was obsessed with a story of Gothic monks whose lettering grew so ornate that the bishops found it unreadable and banned the technique. The monks’ work wasn’t so different from the increasingly abstract styles of graffiti writing, which turned a name into something mysterious and unrecognizable. Ramm developed a philosophy, Gothic Futurism, and an artistic approach that he called Ikonoklast Panzerism: “Ikonoklast” because he was a “symbol destroyer,” abolishing age-old standards of language and meaning; “Panzer” because this symbolic warfare involved arming all the letters of the alphabet, so that they might liberate themselves. He lived these ideas through his art and his music, and by being part of the hip-hop scene during its infancy.
In 1983, Rammellzee and a rapper named K-Rob went to visit the painter Jean-Michel Basquiat. Though Ramm and Basquiat were friends, they were also rivals. Ramm would later say that Basquiat wasn’t a “dream artist”—he didn’t so much radiate visions outward as take things in like a “sponge,” learning about genius from books. He and Ramm once bet on who could most convincingly parody the other’s work. (Ramm claimed not only that he won but that Basquiat’s art dealer, who wasn’t in on their ruse, told Basquiat that “his” work was the best he had ever done.)
That night, Basquiat invited Ramm and K-Rob to record a song he’d written. Ramm, who had rapped in the movie “Wild Style,” was already known for his unique nasal sneer. (He called it his “gangster duck” style.) The two men looked at Basquiat’s elementary rhymes, laughed, and tossed them in the trash. Instead, they made up their own lyrics—a brilliant, surreal tale of a kid (the earnest, bemused K-Rob) who’s on his way home and a hectoring pimp (Ramm) who tries to tempt him toward the dark side. Basquiat called the song “Beat Bop,” and paid for it to be produced; he painted the vinyl single’s cover art himself. The song was murky and strange, like a spiky funk jam slowed to a sinister crawl. In the background, someone tunes a violin. There’s so much echo and reverb on the track that it sounds like an attempt at time travel.
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In the eighties, graffiti gained acceptance in the art world. Despite Ramm’s charisma, the intensity of his work and his stubborn, erratic personality kept him on the movement’s fringes. Where Basquiat and Keith Haring seemed shy showmen, Ramm came across as a nutty professor. His early paintings took inspiration from the psychedelia of comic books and science fantasy, with mazy train tracks running across cosmic reliefs. His palette was attuned to the era’s anxieties about nuclear war and nuclear waste. The colors were bright and garish, suggesting a box of neon highlighters run amok.
Rammellzee created and wore full-body suits of armor that he called “Garbage Gods.”
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Photograph by Mari Horiuchi / courtesy Red Bull Arts New York and the Rammellzee Estate
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In the mid-eighties, he began rendering these ideas in 3-D. He made sculptures that evoked the fossilized remains of twentieth-century life: newspaper clippings, key rings, chain links, and other junk, floating in an epoxy ooze. The most remarkable works were his “Garbage Gods,” full-body suits of armor, some of which weighed more than a hundred pounds. They look like junk-yard Transformers doing samurai cosplay. His most famous character, the Gasholeer, was outfitted with a small flamethrower.
Ramm’s art, thought, and music are the subject of the exhibition “ramm∑llz∑∑: Racing for Thunder,” at Red Bull Arts New York.
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Befitting the popular drink’s own sense of iconoclasm, “Racing” bathes in Ramm’s frenzied, free-associative, and occasionally overwhelming energy. There are his early canvases and sculptures, along with flyers, business cards, manifestos, and patent applications. A small theatre screens previously unseen videos of Ramm rapping at nightclubs. The most impressive part of the survey is a floor devoted to his “Garbage Gods” and “Letter Racers”—skateboards representing each letter of the alphabet, armed with makeshift rockets, screwdrivers, and blades.
Throughout the exhibition, you can hear moments from Ramm’s lectures on Gothic Futurism—a thrilling jumble of street-corner hustling and technical language, all “parsecs,” “integers,” “aerodynamics.” As I was examining a collection of hand-painted watches, I kept hearing Ramm pause as he reached the end of a long disquisition on ecological catastrophe and graffiti-as-warfare, and then bark, “Next slide!”
In early May, the Red Bull Music Festival staged a Ramm-inspired concert to mark the opening of the art show. Ramm had continued to make music after “Beat Bop,” never wavering from his philosophies, just declaring them against increasingly turbulent, industrial-sounding backdrops. The eclecticism of the bill spoke to his wandering ear, and ranged from the terse hardcore of Show Me the Body to the wise-ass raps of Wiki. K-Rob, wearing a T-shirt featuring a mushroom and the words “I’m a Fun Guy,” reprised his verse from “Beat Bop,” grinning the whole way through. Gio Escobar, the leader of the deft punk-jazz band Standing on the Corner, dedicated a song to a late friend. The departed are everywhere around us, he said, as a groove emerged from the band’s dubbed-out chaos. “And they’re waiting.”
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As hip-hop and art changed, as graffiti vanished from New York’s trains and walls, Ramm delved further into his own private cosmos—namely, the enormous loft in Tribeca where he lived, which he called the Battle Station. His obscurity wasn’t a choice. In the early eighties, he offered to send the U.S. military some of the intelligence he had gathered for national defense. (It declined.) In 1985, he wrote an opera, “The Requiem of Gothic Futurism.” In the nineties, he tried to promote his ideas by producing a comic book and a board game. He thought that toy manufacturers might want to mass-produce his “Garbage Gods” models.
He was the first artist to collaborate with the streetwear brand Supreme.
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There was a series of infomercial-like videos to seed interest in “Alpha’s Bet,” an epic movie that he hoped would finally resolve the narrative arc of his extended universe.
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By the time Rammellzee died, in 2010, after a long illness, New York City had been completely remade by mayoral administrations that took broken-windows policing as gospel. The Battle Station became condos.
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The Internet has made it easy to take what the culture provides you and rearrange it in some novel, cheeky way. It’s much more difficult to build an entirely new world—to abide by an ethical vision with a ferocity that requires you to break all the rules. I was surprised by how moved I felt standing underneath Ramm’s “Letter Racers” and studying the textures of the “Garbage Gods.” To see their meticulous handiwork up close was to believe that Ramm’s far-flung theories, his mashup of quantum physics and “slanguage,” made sense as an outsider’s survival strategy. I noticed all the discarded fragments of city life—bulbs and screws, a billiard ball, a doll’s head, old fan blades and turn-signal signs, visors stacked to look like pill bugs. His commitment was total. These are works of devotion.
This is where Ramm wanted to live—at the edge of comprehensibility, but in a way that invited others to wonder. Cities are filled with strangers who possess an unnerving energy, who hail us with stories, songs, and poems. Ramm was one of these. In an interview filmed in the aughts, Ramm sheds light on his everyday life. Sometimes, he says, he’ll be walking down the street or sitting at a bar, and people will just look at him. And sometimes they’ll come up to him and ask, “Who are you?” He’s explaining all this while wearing one of his “Garbage God” masks. You notice his paunch, the warm crackle of his voice at rest. “I’m just an average Joe,” he says, and he sounds like he believes it. 
♦Published in the print edition of the May 28, 2018, issue, with the headline “Graffiti Prophet.”
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neutronstarchild · 1 year
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Hiiiiiiii! I adore you!
🎈🎙️🤲!
HIIIIII @witchygirl99 SAME. ILY
🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?
Oof. My style is sort of... I get really deep into the characters heads. A lot. And sometimes find it's tough to break out of that. I do write differently, mostly by force. Mostly as a way to make sure that I'm challenging myself, but MAN I love me a good "let's hang out in CharacterX's brain together!"
🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of?
Oh gosh. HMM. I would adore seeing The Last Train to Rockaway adapted into a podfic. It was the first story that really seemed to resonate with people, and mostly because "tired AF New Yorker nurse Kagome" would just be delightful to hear as spoken narration.
🤲what do YOU get out of writing?
A lot of it is the dopamine drip of immersing yourself in this world you've created and trying to bring all those colors and magic in your head out into the world for others (and future you) to enjoy. Breathing life into those mental images gives me something that I really can't replicate anywhere else, and it keeps me coming back.
Thank you so much for the asks my dear friend. And thanks for indulging (on many occasions) my requests to walk through the worlds in my brain with me ♥️
From Fan Writer Asks
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masterofd1saster · 2 days
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CJ current events 28mar24
I can't beat this headline, so
Woman once charged with selling sex as hot dog vendor arrested on stalking charges***
EAST ROCKAWAY, Long Island (WABC) -- A woman on Long Island who made headlines in the past for allegedly selling sex as a hot dog vendor has been arrested on stalking charges. Catherina Scalia, 57, was charged with three counts of stalking on Wednesday. Scaia is accused of repeatedly harassing a 51-year-old male employee at the Main Street Business Center in East Rockaway and at his home. According to officials, she exposed her breast and made antisemitic remarks to the man after he told her multiple times to go away.*** https://abc7ny.com/long-island-hot-dog-hooker-arrest-charged/14550522/
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NEW YORK -- Police sources are revealing more details about a murder mystery in Manhattan.  They say the Joint Fugitive Task Force is hunting for two suspects after Nadia Vitels, 52, was killed inside her mother's New York City apartment.  It happened in the Kips Bay neighborhood. Sources say the suspects were squatters.  According to police sources, Vitels was killed after she traveled to New York City from Spain to get the apartment ready to be occupied a family friend. It had been vacant for months after the death of her mother.  Police sources say Vitels didn't know when she went to the apartment that two squatters had been living there. When she arrived, she could be seen on surveillance video coming and going from the apartment.  Police believe the two suspects returned to the apartment after Vitels arrived, surprised and killed her by beating her to death. *** https://www.cbsnews.com/newyork/news/woman-killed-in-nyc-by-squatters-stuffed-in-duffle-bag-sources-say/
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***Adele Andaloro, 47, was in the process of selling the property when the [squatters] shadily took refuge in the home last month. She confronted the trio and changed the locks in hopes they would not be able to re-enter if they left. However, a male inside the home called the police on Andaloro, who was later arrested. Neighbors have noticed some concerning activity from the house since the alleged squatters snaked their way into the home.*** https://nypost.com/2024/03/20/us-news/vigilantes-try-to-evict-squatters-at-1m-queens-house-after-homeowner-adele-andaloro-is-arrested/
Babylon Bee -
bb -
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***
 Naughty By Nature was produced by Combs
LOS ANGELES — Sean "Diddy" Combs is a subject of a federal investigation amid a wave of lawsuits that have been filed against the rap music mogul since November, a source familiar with the matter told NBC News on Monday. Three women and a man have been interviewed by federal officials in Manhattan in relation to allegations of sex trafficking, sexual assault, and the solicitation and distribution of illegal narcotics and firearms, the source said. Interviews with three other subjects are also scheduled, the source said. Four law enforcement sources told NBC News that federal agents with Homeland Security Investigations on Monday executed search warrants at Los Angeles and Miami properties belonging to Combs. The sources said the warrant is out of the Southern District of New York.*** https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sean-diddy-combs-federal-investigation-homes-searched-rcna145006
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puts a whole, new level of creepy on
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I want to wake up
In the city that never sleeps!
EAST HARLEM, Manhattan (WABC) -- A Bronx man was charged in the death of a subway rider he allegedly pushed onto the tracks -- an attack that appeared to be unprovoked. According to police, it happened just before 7 p.m. Monday at the 125th Street and Lexington Avenue subway station in East Harlem. NYPD says officers arrived to find a man in his 40s had been shoved onto the 4 train tracks. An oncoming train was not able to stop and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Carlton McPherson, 24, was arrested and charged with murder. Officials say he has multiple prior arrests. The NYPD has responded to past incidents where McPherson was acting erratically and authorities say he has a history of mental illness. He was released without bail after he was arraigned on an October 31 arrest for assault, menacing, harassment and other charges in Brooklyn. He failed to show up for court twice and a judge issued a warrant for his arrest. He was picked up and brought to court on Jan. 11, where bail was set for $2,000 -- which he posted. His next court date was set for July.*** https://abc7ny.com/subway-push-death-carlton-mcpherson-manhattan-shove/14572262/
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Add don't creep or perv on women to his conditions of probation/parole.
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Adam Yindana is a Rhode Island registered sex offender.
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He's neither a spy nor an American, leave him alone
WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange will find out on Tuesday whether the High Court in London will allow him to appeal against his extradition from Britain to the United States or if his British legal challenges have finally come to an end. U.S. prosecutors are seeking to put Assange, 52, on trial on 18 counts relating to WikiLeaks' high-profile release of vast troves of confidential U.S. military records and diplomatic cables, with all bar one coming under the Espionage Act.*** https://www.newsmax.com/newsfront/assange/2024/03/25/id/1158597
Now, if you wanted to fry Bradley Manning or Reality Winner, I'll turn up the heat. They were born American. They swore an oath to defend this country.
***
Wed
Felony assaults on New York City subways jumped 53 percent during 2023 compared to the same type of assaults during 2019, according to statistics reported by the New York Post.
The Post noted there were 570 felony assaults reported in 2023, which is roughly 200 more than were reported in 2019. Moreover, felony assaults resulting in “substantial injury” made up 25 percent of major crimes on NYC trains during 2023 whereas the same type of assaults with the same type of injuries constituted only 15 percent of major crimes on trains in 2019. The Post pointed out that police and transit workers are not immune to the violence either: “100 cops and 60 transit employees were assaulted in the system in 2023; both figures were up sharply from 2019 when 71 cops and 32 transit employees were assaulted.”*** https://www.breitbart.com/2nd-amendment/2024/03/25/felony-assaults-subway-jump-53-percent-gun-controlled-democrat-run-nyc/
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J. Breyer - you know the retired bald man - outed himself
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***The suspected shooter, 34-year-old Guy Rivera, has at least four prior arrests, according to the source.  The driver of the vehicle, 41-year-old Lindy Jones, has at least 12 prior arrests. His last arrest was in April 2023 for a loaded firearm, the NYPD source told Fox News.  "Less than a year gun charge," New York City Mayor Eric Adams said at a press conference. "He's back on the streets. April 2023. This is what you call not a crime problem, a recidivist problem. Same bad people doing bad things to good people. Less than a year, he's back on the streets with another gun."*** https://www.foxnews.com/us/suspects-shooting-death-nypd-officer-jonathan-diller-identified-lengthy-records
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Babylon Bee -
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rockawayhouse · 3 months
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Beautiful 1-Bedroom Sublet in Bed Stuy/Ocean Hill (Avail 3/1/24)
We are looking for a regular and/or long-term subletter for our chic Bed Stuy/Ocean Hill home. Beautifully furnished with a mix of mid-century and modern styles, this private 1-bedroom rental is available on a long-term, flexible basis, starting March 1, 2024 (flexible)
VIRTUAL TOUR - https://youtu.be/8f7vyGT6UHE
The Neighborhood:
Bed Stuy/Ocean Hill boasts great cafes, bars, restaurants, and dance clubs. We're located on Rockaway Ave between Somers and Hull Sts in eastern Bed Stuy. Right across the street from Phoenix Community Garden and Farmer’s Market - the biggest Community Garden in NYC, and in the midst of amazing businesses - Daily Press Cafe (live music and events), Bread & Butter, Pita Point, Beets Cafe, All Night Skate, Aux Karaoke Bar, Little Skips East, Nowadays, organic delis, huge grocery stores, just to name a few. Saratoga Park, Cuts & Slices, Lady Moomoo, Saraghina, Bed Stuy Fish Fry, and all the great business on Halsey/Malcolm X are a short distance away.
Transportation:
The C train at Rockaway Ave is just 1 block away, the J is 6 blocks away, and the L is 8 blocks away. LIRR East New York station is 10 blocks away. Citibike station is on the corner. Lower Manhattan is 20 minutes by train, JFK is 45 minutes by train, LaGuardia is 25 minutes by car. B60 is across the street taking you up to Williamsburg or down to Canarsie.
The Amenities:
Washer/Dryer in unit!
Dishwasher!
Great Wi-fi!
Abundant Closet Space!
The roomy and peaceful bedroom with western exposure has an incredibly comfortable Full/Queen pullout sleeper that can double as a couch for more space. 
The newly renovated bathroom features blue Spanish tiles and a brass rain shower. Split unit A/C in the living room. 
The mid-century living room has sunny eastern exposure with lots of plants.
The kitchen is huge (by NYC standards) and 2 people can comfortably cook up a storm.
Cute brick patio out front for sipping coffee, gardening, and people watching.
The apartment has a private and secure entrance. We will keep one bedroom door locked with our personal items for the duration of your stay.
To note:
We are part-time in NYC, and will stay in the unit upstairs for when we're in town. We are looking for a long term relationship with subletters who either are looking to rent for a multi-month period of time, or on-and-off over the course of a longer period of time. Ideally we could navigate a schedule that works for all parties between March and November, but we’re flexible for the right folks. Looking for a minimum 2-3 month commitment sometime starting March 1, 2024 (flexible move-in date) through late November.
This space would be perfect for one person or a couple. No pets, no large parties/events, and no smoking in the apartment.
We have plants in the living room that would love a bit of water, so plant-friendly renters are appreciated!
$2800/month (includes all utilities)
ABOUT THIS LISTER
We are a queer couple in our early 40s who have called Bed Stuy home for over 16 years. We have great relationships with our neighbors and so we’re looking for mature, quiet, and respectful folks who would keep those relationships thriving. We would stay in the upstairs unit occasionally, so we would use the same building stairwell, though the sublet unit is completely private. We have a quiet (a little nervous) rescue dog who loved our last tenants - she is slow to love, but her love is big.
RENTAL REQUIREMENTS
We require 1 month’s rent as security deposit. We also ask for 2 personal/professional references, a copy of government ID, and proof of income/funds, please gather those as you reach out. 
Please email us to set up a time to view the apartment. Because we travel quite a bit, we may not always be able to show the unit in person, but we can go through the virtual tour together and answer any questions you may have. If you are NYC based and we are in town, we are happy to show the unit in person.
We are flexible with rental dates especially for the right person, though we do give preference for longer stays.
Deposit/rent will be paid via Zelle or Venmo.
OTHER MISC
This apartment is about 7 steps up from the sidewalk. The apartment is outfitted with double-paned windows to minimize noise, but Rockaway Ave is a moderately trafficked street, so you may occasionally hear the sounds of NYC. And because we do have a small and sweet dog in the unit upstairs, those with severe dog allergies may not be a good fit.
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tok-blog878 · 5 months
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Prompt 1 - Sharks are good
The ‘interviews’ conducted in this article are entirely fictional. 
“‘After the COVID shutdown, there was less traffic in the water, there was less fishing, fewer restaurants needing food. And now, with the water being warmer, it’s just bringing different patterns of movement.’ There were five reported possible shark bites on Long Island in one week this summer; last Monday, a woman was bitten in the Rockaways, the first confirmed shark bite in New York City since the fifties”   
- The New Yorker
“FIVE THINGS MORE LIKELY TO KILL YOU THAN A SHARK. A vending machine; Two people are crushed to death every year in the United States alone trying to tilt faulty vending machines.”
- The Guardian
         Come October, a tigerlike ardor is needed to manage the back-to-school agitation of students across the country, from those vaping in school bathrooms to those interrogating their guidance counselors about Summer courses. Students of the latter variety are likely to be found in Theory of Knowledge classrooms, where any given highschool’s near-graduates can acquire a university credit, all the while letting off some steam; “The vibe here is very much this: If you say something that seems a little biased, or devoid of critical thought, expect to get pounced on” said one student (who will remain anonymous) enrolled in such a class. 
        On a recent morning, TOK students at Lo-Ellen Park Secondary School watched - through eyes red enough to have been dipped in saline - a twenty-second clip of a diver making contact, head-on, with a Great White Shark. Some believed the diver was lucky not to have died, while others suggested that, statistically speaking, the diver’s risk of dying had been very low. “More people are crushed to death by vending machines, every year, than killed by sharks,” claimed one Soren Long, under the torrent of voices which filled the room. Few could think of a rebuke.
      According to the International Baccalaureate’s official website, Theory of Knowledge “aims to make students aware of the interpretative nature of knowledge, including personal ideological biases.” Such was the goal, claims Mr. Bertrand (Lo-Ellen’s very own TOK teacher), of the shark clip; “I’m not saying sharks are these super cuddly creatures. It’s just that movies like ‘Jaws’ have led us to believe that they are much more aggressive than any real data might suggest. They’re actually an endangered species, but we’re all indifferent. The same can’t be said about koalas.” 
          During lessons - which Mr. Bertrand conducts from an Adirondack chair at the front of his classroom - the children discuss concepts such as the anchoring effect, a bias which causes humans to disproportionately rely on the first piece of information they receive. In recent years, courses focused on questioning the information we receive, as well as the way this information is processed, have gained in popularity; Media literacy is part of Canada’s English curriculum, and a growing number of corporations are sending workers to inclusion workshops, where unconscious biases are addressed. 
            The Lighthouse, a company founded in 2009, has provided bias-training services to over 1,500 Canadian businesses. Last Monday, The Lighthouse’s CEO, Michelle Urchin, had this to say about it; “When we’re sent into a new workplace, most employees have never heard of terms like ‘heuristics’ and ‘attribution bias’. We shed light on these issues, but at the end of the day, it’s up to them to dive deep into their personal oceans, and into how these concepts manifest in their own work environment.” During our interview, Urchin spoke passionately and optimistically, pausing only to take sips from her cup of organic Golden Milk. 
          Few cognitive psychologists - or modern, media-consuming adults, for that matter - share Bertrand’s and Urchin’s hippy ideals. Daniel Kahneman, one of the leading figures in the world of cognitive bias, has expressed skepticism in regards to the thought that one can change their biases. Parents of children taking Theory of Knowledge classes worry for their kids’ sanity; “The other day, I told my daughter that it was her turn to do the dishes. She responded with ‘How do you know?’ I can never tell if she’s being insolent, or genuine. I went through an existentialist phase when I was around her age. My friends and I tried to smoke ayahuasca and the next day I woke up in a peacock cage, at our local zoo… Hopefully she’s being insolent.”  
        After sitting in on a few of Mr. Bertrand's lessons, I decided to sign up for a bias course on Coursera.com; the conclusion, it seemed, was simply that I should go against all of my initial instincts. But one day, Mr. Bertrand showed the class a TED talk by one Gerd Gigerenzer; clad in a blue dress-shirt and lowball glasses, the German psychologist told me to trust my instincts, especially in a world where probabilities were not known. “Maybe sharks are bad,” I caught myself thinking.  
      I later shared this with a group of students in the class. One girl, who usually remained quiet during class discussions, said, “TOK is like when you get in an argument, and you can’t think of a comeback in the moment, but later you think up a great reply and it just makes you more angry. Like Soren’s comment about the sharks; how many million people are within a meter of a vending machine, in a day, compared to the hundred people getting within, say, 50 meters of a shark? If the numbers were more comparable, way more people would die from shark attacks.” 
       After a particularly heated class discussion, one in which a kid stormed out of class, Mr. Bertrand pulled me aside. “A lot of kids think this is a debate class. It’s not. People say that if a shark attacks you, you should punch them in the nose. The same is not true of children. Believe me.” 
Prompt 2 - Analogical reasoning is gold       
 Every morning, Kinder’s dreams would fill with the smell of warm toast, and she would promptly get up, letting herself be greeted by a yolk-yellow sun. Light seemed to ooze, in Kinder’s room. It oozed from outside and into her mind, washing it of a night’s drowsiness.      
         Downstairs, Kinder’s father would be reading the paper, slippered feet on the dining-room table, and Kinder’s mother would be sitting on the counter - legs flailing back and forth, bowl of cereal in hand, while the radio’s sounds reverberated out of what could’ve only been, by the sound of it, the entirety of the room. 
         It was often unclear, to Kinder, whether her dad was listening to the radio or reading the paper; From the moment Kinder came downstairs to the moment she left for school, her father’s eyes would remain glued to the paper. Tiny cracks of focus. And yet, all of his “hmms” and “ahas” were timed in accordance with the pauses of the radio. There was a certain wisdom in those sounds of understanding, Kinder thought, a wisdom which eluded children her age. 
“Someday you’ll understand. When you’re older, I mean,” her mom said. 
         Kinder was still crying by the time they arrived at school. She wiped her nose down the length of her forearm, and braced herself out of the door. Ahead of her, the sound of laughter, high-pitched and birdlike, pierced the sky. Behind her, a car screeched into motion. 
       In class, Kinder could not concentrate. She stared out the window, at the leaves which fluttered from treetops, and thought of fish - of  tiny, swarm-bound fish. 
“Kinder. Square root of 64, please.”
The whole class stared at Kinder, at the little fish stuck in her eyes. 
“What” she responded, still in a daze though aware of the looks aimed her way. 
“If you’re not going to pay attention,” replied Ms. Hannigan, beady-eyed, “Then you may as well make yourself useful.” Ms. Hannigan raised her forefinger as she said this, and finally it settled on a stiff, dusty broom at the front of the class. Such was the context  in which Kinder was made to sweep the school’s floors, for the rest of the afternoon. 
         Tommy and Kinder got off the bus at the same stop. “My brother says she’s a witch. He says that, on really clear nights, she can be seen flying that broomstick past the moon and the stars. Sometimes, if a child is really bad, she brings them along with her, all the way to the end of the universe, and drops them over the edge of it. Their screams and cries turn into thunderstorms.”
          “Your brother’s a dimwit,” responded Kinder, even though she half-believed Tommy; He was the brightest boy in her class, and it was true that his brother, Sam, had a telescope with which he could see things like flying witches. Tommy didn’t mind Kinder calling his brother a dimwit. He still waved seeya as Kinder walked up her driveway, slouching forward under the weight of her backpack. 
           Kinder shut the door behind her, out of breath. She unzipped her backpack, being careful not to let the zipper pull get stuck in her backpack’s cloth. At the bottom of it sat a big, golden book. A buried treasure. 
           There once upon a time was a sea that men could only dream of meeting , for to get to it meant crossing other seas made topsy-turvy by lashing winds and whip-tailed beasts. This sea, which was unaffected by waves, carried sound miles and miles around, such that at any given spot on its surface, a cacophony of birdsong, surface tension and splashes could be heard.  It served as home for many strange creatures; there were the Apatows; in morphology, these were the closest this sea got to human beings, though Apatows were much more stout, and short, and apart from the soles of their feet were made from scales. The Apatows were amphibians, and inhabited the rivers which this sea had shoveled for itself; most of their time was spent in shallow water, resting on their backs and at the bottom of the rivers. There, little fish would eat their dead scales, and the tough skin off their feet. If the Apatows were not resting, they were socializing with one another, through rituals, games and etiquette which had evolved over millions of years. As the Apatows got older, socializing became a way to find a mate, for this was an important part of Apatow livelihood; Apatows who remained mateless for too long were known to crawl out of the water, weep themselves dry and die. An impending fear of becoming a shriveled, Earth-bound Apatow drove much of the young, single Apatows’ behavior. Once any given Apatow found a mate, a ceremony would be held for the couple, and the youngs would play music by tapping on the river’s surface, and the elders would prepare a feast of crustaceans and small fish.  For the next few weeks, the newlyweds would retreat to some hidden corner of the river, and once they came back out, would only speak in rhyming couplets; 
 “We’re off to get ourselves chewed bare,” one Apatow might say, 
“Like fruit you’d just as quickly pare,” their partner would add, before the couple went to lie at the bottom of a river. 
      Over time, however, it was not uncommon for the couples’ rhymes to lose eloquence; one Apatow might try to rhyme the word “bull” with the word “bowl,” which had moments ago been uttered by their partner, leaving one partner red with shame and the other apologetic, angry and disappointed. It was often the case, too, that one partner would become too slow at thinking of rhymes, making the Apatow-couple's life less efficient. In such an instance, the couple would often resort to muteness and isolation. Couples of the sort would develop a sort of dement—
– Kinder slammed the book shut, and ambled her way to the living room, where both of her parents sat, hands in laps. Her dad cleared his throat. Her mother fiddled with the cloth of her shirt. Both looked up at Kinder, as though hanging, stuck, in some space between all of their questions and Kinder’s words of reply. 
Kinder opened her mouth. 
“Obviously, it’ll be difficult for me. But hey, we’ll adjust. I just want you guys to be happy.” 
“Oh, we’re so very proud of you sweetie,” replied her mother.  
“Yes. We were scared you wouldn’t be ready,” said her dad. 
Kinder looked for a hint of shame in her mother’s face, but it was not there. She smiled. 
Prompt 3 - Soren vs. Soren’s dad, who ya got?
       Helen Keller is an American author and activist who at 19 months old contracted a disease which left her blind and deaf. She is best known for works which veer on the autobiographical, such as “The Story of My Life,” a novel which I recently read. While reading this work, which is essentially a retelling of Keller’s life, I couldn’t help but think of Aristotle, and his ideas of how knowledge is produced, or acquired. According to Aristotle, who was an avid knowledge seeker, humans were born with this innate desire to understand the world around them. In other words, Aristotle believed that all humans were avid knowledge seekers. To Aristotle, humans acquired their beliefs through external input; most notably - in Ancient Greece, at least - through sensory information, and that these beliefs became knowledge (or true)  if they were justifiable and devoid of subjectivity. For example, a woman selling apples can only determine that her apples are sweeter than another vendor’s by asking someone to taste both varieties and report back to her. Even so, the woman’s belief may be iffy, since the taster could be biased. In order for the woman’s belief to be justified and true, a full-fledged apple degustation would have to ensue. While the example above deals with taste as the sense being used to acquire knowledge, humans are much more likely to use their vision and their hearing as sources of information. This is in large part what makes Helen Keller’s story so fascinating; As a blind, deaf toddler, Kellen had to find unconventional ways of learning about the world. One of my favorite excerpts from “The Story of My Life” depicts a young Helen and her father; “My earliest distinct memory of my father is making my way through great drifts of newspapers to his side and finding him alone, holding a sheet of paper before his face. I was greatly puzzled to know what he was doing. I imitated this action, even wearing his spectacles, thinking they might help solve the mystery. But I did not find out the secret for several years. Then I learned what those papers were, and that my father edited one of them.” If the average child was perplexed by their father’s newspaper-reading habits, there are two strategies which would champion all others, in any given child’s quest to rid themselves of confusion. The child may take a stab at reading the paper themselves, if they can read; the child may then think to themselves “Oh, dad is reading this because he wants to find out  about the expected results of the next election,” or they may be entertained by the stories themselves, which would serve as an explanation, too. An alternative strategy would be for the child to question the father about his newspaper-reading habits. Neither strategy was available to Helen, such that she had to resort to another method, which was much less effective. I am now almost at the 500-word limit on this blog, so I will speed things up now. Basically, Helen Keller was sent to a school for the blind and deaf, as a young child. There, she met Anne Sullivan, who became her full-time teacher/nanny. Helen Keller has often described a time when Anne poured liquid on Helen Keller’s hand, and proceeded to spell out the word “water” on her wet palm. Helen describes this as a pivotal moment for her, a moment when the world seemed to gain a semblance of clarity, reason and order which it had never had before. While Helen Keller’s story has not convinced me that Aristotle is completely right, it has convinced me that Plato is NOT completely right; if knowledge was fully innate, as he says, Helen Keller would not have felt so disoriented in the world. But of course knowledge is not fully innate, and before Keller acquired strategies (about ways she could use her senses to gain information about the world), she was really struggling. 
Prompt 4 - Foxes and Hedgehogs
Dear journal,
        It’s been a while since I last wrote, and frankly, there is just a lot to fill you in on. We landed in Berlin on Monday, ‘round 3 AM in EST. Although long, the flight had not been wholly unpleasant; there had been a mix-up at the Pearson airport, such that we boarded our plane two hours late. As a sort of remediation, all passengers were offered free drinks. I managed to find four people who did not want theirs. Thus, the plane ride went down smoothly, at least for me. Lydia did not seem so pleased. It was only once we’d landed, and gotten our luggage, and walked to the front of the airport - where a plump, blond woman stood waiting for us with a sign that said our names - that I realized the drinks would not be going down smoothly. We had to call a new taxi, after I puked on our cab driver, whose name turned out to be Ilse. 
          We went to bed and woke up at 4 PM CET. The first day was taken as a sort of acclimation. We walked down Unter den Linden, and ate some bratwurst, but the rest of our day consisted of resting for the week ahead. As you know, dear journal, I was sent to Berlin to study the effects of zoo-life of mammalian species. I was meant to begin my work the day after our arrival, at the Berlin Zoological Garden, and I anticipated a tedious day of taking blood tests, measuring lengths or weights, and observing behavior. There was one animal I was particularly excited to see, and this was the red fox, or rather the V. Vulpes. My colleagues had all told me about this fox, for it was known that his behavior was rather divergent. I was excited to see these anomalies for myself, and see them materialized, with MRI scans. 
        On Wednesday, I put on my work slacks and biked over to the Zoo. A young man named Wilhelm was there to greet me; “Auf wiedersehen,” he said, and I responded in broken German. The young man walked me through the Zoo, introducing me to every animal. When we got to the fox, he said something about how this is where the real scientific development would happen. I asked him what he meant by it. Wilhelm went into this shack, and pulled out two varieties of dead rodent. He unlocked the gate to the fox (whose name, I later found out, was Max) and laid the two rodents down on a rock. Max, who had been pacing back and forth in his cage, stopped. He looked up at Wilhelm, looked down at the two pieces of rodent, and began tilting his head back and forth. For the rest of the visit, it seemed, Max walked between the two pieces of rodent, each time staring at one and stopping, tilting his head back and forth, and even, it seemed to me, shrugging. Over the next few days, I realized that Max was, shall we say, indecisive. Any time a choice would be posed him- where to urinate, where to eat, what to eat, etc. - he would begin to pace back and forth. This could last hours, or days, before Max resorted to action. The brain scans showed that his brain was normal. Perfectly average, for a red fox. 
       There is no doubt that, in wildlife, foxes have a great many decisions to make. They must find a mate, a suitable spot for their burrows and new food sources everyday. They must decide where to explore, they must know how to get back to their burrows. It seems that, in captivation, the ability to be conscious of many factors at once has not left. However, the number of factors has. Thus, the fox creates nuance and uncertainty, for itself, where there is none.
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davidpwilson2564 · 9 months
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Bloglet
Sunday, June 18, 2023
Fathers Day.
Head out to Queens. The trip goes without incident. Always happy when the train pulls out of the tunnel into the sunlight, as it approaches Rockaway Blvd. That long flight of stairs. No elevator. I can see how this could one day be troublesome. (And, yes, getting up off the subway bench after a long ride is becoming increasingly difficult.) Descend those long stairs. Vertiginous stairs, as if in a Piranesi.
See Jean and the grandkids. Jenna is studying for a big test. Julie has concluded her first year at St. John's. All very copacetic.
A bit later Kenichi cooks out on the grill. A neighbor has come by. Kenichi explains to the neighbor that the grill (now almost twenty years old) was obtained through coupons that came with Marlboro cigarettes (!). Yikes. I remember when he smoked. I remember when we were standing outside the hospital, waiting for Julie to be born and he told me he was crushing out his last cigarette. I watched him do it. Funny. He made good on his resolve. (Had I gone back to cigarettes at this time? Can't recall. But know that I stabbed out my last one shortly thereafter.)
See beautiful sunset as Kenichi drives me to the train at Continental Ave. A plane overhead en route to LaGuardia, as if pulled by a string. Rather easy ride back into the city. Always glad to be back in my neighborhood. The local restaurants abuzz. The hum of humanity.
Home, and happy to be.
to be continued
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8u0 · 11 months
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Last night I had a vivid dream that there was a location somewhere in the noth Bronx in New York City, accessible by the A Train, that was an archipelago of tiny inhabited islands, with sandy beaches that you could wade through shallow water to visit one-by-one. You literally got off the train onto an island with typical brick pre-war walkup apartment buildings that went right up to the water’s edge, where wooden footbridges connected to further islands dotted with victorian-style turrets and a cheap pizza shop/bar. After sunset in the summer, you had to time it just right so that you could catch a train home (they left every hour or so.)
This closely mirrors my actual excursions to Fire Island and Rockaway Beach, but it was an oddly beguiling and specific vision, like a new NYC neighborhood Minecraft biome.
I awoke so convinced that I had been to this location that I scoured the map of NYC, looking at the the Bronx near Long Island Sound, Broad Channel and the bay, and Far Rockaway to try and find evidence of some place resembling the one I’d dreamt.
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jakemarsigliofin · 1 year
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Entry 4 -  Challenges you faced (the nature of the work, working hours, organisation, motivation, tabling of ideas).
The biggest challenge I faced by the length of the Flemington straight was the unreliability of the Adobe Premiere Pro Software due to the slow and crowded servers at SEN. Specific clips such as ones recorded in the Melbourne studios would be quick to edit and upload as export times would only take a minute or two and footage would be clear to skim through to cut the correct timecodes. However, for the likes of clips to be produced from the Adelaide, Sydney, Perth and Brisbane studios not only would export times have me twiddling my thumbs for up to 10 minutes, but also footage that needed to be watched through wouldn’t be able to load properly.
This meant that I would attempt to go back and reload a part of the video that was skipped past and not played in order to try an understand what part of the clip I was up to. This process, especially from the Sydney and Adelaide studios would have to repeat every ten seconds of the clip at hand.
https://twitter.com/i/status/1595975570256547841
(Kymbo & The Rooch were one of SEN SA shows that would take forever to load and export, SEN SA 1629)
I wouldn’t have to face this as much on Saturday shifts. ECN (2017) determines that in the internet ‘rush hour’ “data speeds drop by up to 30%”. Therefore, I believe that due to the more frequent foot traffic in the office throughout the week this was the reason behind the painstakingly slow exporting and loading times.
Another challenge I faced was the commute to the office. Being from Berwick, traditionally a trip to the city would take approximately an hour or so whether it be via car or train. Throughout the duration of the internship there were several Pakenham line closures that Berwick Station is on meaning it wasn’t a reliable service. On top of that the station that is only two kilometres from my house, was upgrading its car park for a 2023 expansion. This meant that in the meantime half of the car park was unavailable for use, thus scratching the option to go into SEN via Berwick Train Station. Driving in the full way was also not an option with parking on weekdays not only limited to a couple of hours but it also had to be paid for. This meant for all weekday shifts I was given that I would have to create a hybrid use of multiple forms of transportation to get to work.
It would go as follows. Drive from my house in Berwick to either Holmesglen Station or Huntingdale Station depending on track works or the congestion on the Monash Freeway. Next, take the train in from either station to Flinders Street. If I was going in from Huntingdale Station, I would have to get off at Richmond and change trains to skip wasted time through the city loop for an alternative train that goes directly to Flinders Street. From there it was a tram ride either down St Kilda Road to the Shine of Remembrance stop to then walk down the duration of Coventry Street, or if I was lucky a rare South Melbourne tram would appear and take me to the Kings Way stop dropping me off right outside SEN’s doors.
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(Roadworks on the Monash Freeway lasted half the time I was with SEN. The other half was just as congested, The Age)
All up a trip to my internship on average would take 1 hour and 50 minutes each way. This meant early trips meant earlier alarms and long shifts meant late night arrivals back home. Despite this I can proudly say that I was never late to a shift.
In recollection of these challenges, I’m glad that the challenges I faced were those not in my control and didn’t reflect on my overall ability and performance.  
REFERENCES
ECN. (2017). Slow internet? new technology to speed up home broadband dramatically.  Rockaway. https://www.proquest.com/docview/2003029640?pq-origsite=primo
SEN SA 1629 (@1629senSA). (2022, November 25) Isaac Keeler talks the clubs that have shown interest in him ahead of the draft!. Twitter. https://twitter.com/i/status/1595975570256547841
The Age (2016, November 4) The Monash Freeway. https://www.theage.com.au/national/victoria/monash-freeway-delays-crash-and-road-widening-works-cause-traffic-headaches-20161104-gsht04.html
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theusviral · 1 year
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Accused teen subway killer Keyondre Russell speaks out
Accused teen subway killer Keyondre Russell speaks out
The 18-year-old accused in the shooting death of a 15-year-old on the A train in Queens last month whined to The Post in an exclusive jailhouse interview that he’s “not the murderer” in the caught-on-video slaying.  Keyondre Russell of Far Rockaway was arrested for murder and criminal possession of a weapon on Oct. 15, a day after a clash between two groups of teens on a train ended when gunshots…
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mainsedit · 1 year
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J line new york subway
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The Second Avenue subway line hit 155,000 daily riders last Friday, the authority found. On Wednesday, officials plan to release the authority’s ridership figures, which rely on MetroCard swipes as well as hand counts by staff members at stations that were not part of the data analyzed by The Times. “We’re pleased to be on track to meet our ridership projections,” she said. It now faces a $2.5 billion budget deficit in 2025 and consistently low ridership. Woes : The Metropolitan Transportation Authority had already been heavy in debt before the pandemic. This is what it could mean for New Yorkers. Penn Station: New York State officials have approved a sweeping redevelopment of Midtown Manhattan that would transform Pennsylvania Station.On the bright side, the system’s tunnels should get cellphone service in the coming years. Subway: Few subway stations in the city have air-conditioned platforms.Congestion Pricing: It could soon cost $23 to drive through Manhattan, as the city moves toward introducing a tolling program to reduce traffic.Location: Coney Island Shop/Overhaul & Repair Shopīlind ends damaged in collision, repaired and returned to service. Mate 4905 coupled with 4946.Ĭollided with "B" train near 9th Avenue. Involved in fire at East New York Yard, 1971. Moved to SBK yard in Brooklyn for asbestos abatement and scrapping, July 2007. Location: US DOT Test Facility, Pueblo, Colorado Location: East New York High School of Transit Technologyįor several years situated in Pueblo, Colo. Installed at the East New York High School of Transit Technology in 2009 used for educational and vocational training purposes. Location: SBK Yard (2nd Ave at 38th St.) (SBK) 4685 scrapped in 2000 4726's nose (end cap) used to repair 4918. Preserved for NYTM collection, mated with R-40M 4460. yard scrap line instead of being repaired, even those with only relatively minor damage. As the R-42 fleet is being prepared for scrapping, the four pairs of R-42 cars were sent to the 207th St. Part of "Train of Many Metals" fleet.Ĭollided with "D" train, 59th Street. Or scrapped prior to the bulk of the typeįirst R-42s in service, (in a mixed train on the Sea Beach line). Wrecked/Damaged in accident (and possibly repaired), Photo Gallery There are 2699 photos available.Ĭar number location photographer most viewed // Subsort oldest first newest first R-42 Datasheet from NYCT Revenue & Non-Revenue Car Drawings.A final farewell trip was hosted by the New York Transit Museum on Wednesday, February 12, 2020, operating a round trip on the "A" line (Euclid Avenue to Far Rockaway, Far Rockaway to 207th St., 207th St. The final consist was 4798/9-4817/6-4830/1-4825/4." Just days after that line was written, the last of the R-42 trains were pressed back into service to cover for the temporary withdrawal of the new R-179 fleet, which had some door operation issues. The last of the R-42 fleet was officially retired on, making two final trips on the "J" line.Coupling/Numbering Arrangement: All married pairs.Cab Arrangement: Half-width driving cab at "A" end, half-width conductor control cab at "B" end.
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near-rockaway-nj · 2 years
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Tree Removal, Why Hiring a Professional Is Necessary?
There are several reasons why you should choose a professional tree service when it comes to tree trimming, tree cutting, stump grinding, and tree removal Rockaway NJ residents rely on. The first is that a skilled tree service company provides proper training to its workers, which makes all the difference when it comes to preventing workplace injuries. Another factor is that they stay up to date on rules. The hows and whats of tree care might vary from year to year. Don't end up paying a big fine for removing a protected tree incorrectly. Allow Rockaway NJ Tree Service to inform you of its understanding of local laws and regulations.
Rockaway NJ Tree Service
Give Rockaway NJ Tree Service a call as soon as tree removal in Rockaway NJ is required on your home or business property, and it will arrive right away to provide a free estimate. The company offers on-the-spot, handwritten expert estimates for every service and is available to answer any questions you may have. As soon as its team of workers starts, you will notice their attention to detail. Your house will be cared for just like it were their own. As they go along, they tidy up here and there, but when the project is nearly finished, there is the last clean-up as well. The team's respect for your property will leave you amazed.
The Economy of Rockaway, NJ
Rockaway, New Jersey has a 6.0 percent unemployment rate which is the same as the national average. The city's job market decreased by -0.7 percent in the previous year, and future job growth is projected to be 22.9 percent during the next 10 years. This is less than the 33.5 percent national average. The metropolis's sales tax rate is 6.6 percent while the US average is 7.3. The income tax rate is 5.5 percent, which is higher than the 4.6 percent average in the United States. Rockaway residents earn an average of $44,621 a year, compared to the US average of $28,555.
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Rockaway Townsquare in Rockaway, NJ
Rockaway Townsquare is a super-regional shopping mall with a wide retail mix anchored by Macy's, Lord & Taylor, and JCPenney, one of the nation's major apparel and home furnishings companies. The complex opened its doors to the public on Labor Day weekend of 1977 and is regarded as one of New Jersey's top 10 largest retail malls. It serves Morris County with over 140 retailers like Michael Kors, Coach, Lush, Hollister, White House Black Market, Abercrombie & Fitch, J. Crew, and Pandora. Other dining alternatives besides the Food Court include The Cheesecake Factory, Red Robin, and Chipotle. The property also houses a Health Pavilion for the Morristown Medical Center.
Jewish High Holiday Services Open To All
The Jewish High Holidays mark the height of the spiritual year of the Jewish calendar. The 10 Days of Repentance are a period of deep reflection between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. During this time, the Jewish community works internally to transform and rediscover its true nature and potential as holy people. Rosh Hashanah is observed in 2022 from dusk on September 25 through midnight on September 27. Yom Kippur is observed this year from October 4's sunset until October 5's midnight. Numerous different activities are typically planned during this timeframe. To learn more about where you can observe this holiday, click here.
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Link to maps
Rockaway Townsquare 301 Mt Hope Ave, Rockaway, NJ 07866, United States Head west 0.2 mi Turn left toward Mt Pleasant Ave 125 ft Turn right toward Mt Pleasant Ave 427 ft Turn left onto Mt Pleasant Ave 2.0 mi Slight left onto W Main St 1.0 mi Sharp right onto US-46 W 420 ft Turn left onto Rockwood Dr 0.3 mi Rockaway NJ Tree Service 55 Rockwood Dr, Rockaway, NJ 07866, United States
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thisislizheather · 2 years
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July Jiffs 2022
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The beginning of August is basically the best time of year because it ushers in the anticipation for autumn and the holidays. Am I reaching? The anticipation of something is almost as sweet as the actual arrival of whatever it is you’re waiting for.
In any case, here’s what went down last month!
You can find my favourite tweets of the month over here and here.
I wrote about the first leg of my summer trip to London, England.
I went to the American Dream mall in New Jersey with my friend Diana, so thankfully I never have to go again! It’s really just a spectacle, and not in a good way. Why would you ever need a mall to have indoor skiing available? Isn’t the best part of skiing the scenery that surrounds the hills? Am I crazy? Regardless, the mall is terrible. It’s way too big, there are countless empty storefronts (because of the ludicrous rent, I’m assuming) and the furniture is gaudy as hell. Absolutely no reason to go again.
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Above Photo: Even she is thinking, “Why are we here and what is this.”
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Above Photo: Beautiful Diana sitting amongst the idea that money does not equal taste.
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Above Photo: “Take me home.”
I went to Brighton Beach for the first time with my great friend Paul (who just moved back to NY) and what a fine beach it was. Not as filthy as Coney Island, but almost as nice as Rockaway. I can’t really put into words how incredible it is that he moved back here, so just know that this fact is the highlight of my summer.
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Above Photo: Paul! In New York!
Speaking of Paul, his perfect husband Richard made us a meal one night using ground beef from Stoudemire Farms (which I’ve always wanted to try) and it was spectacular. Must remember to buy it the next time I’m at the Union Square market on a Friday.
I also went to Bar Marseille with Diana and the food was great! It’s right near Rockaway, so I wasn’t expecting a lot from a beachside place but I’d definitely go back. The steak sandwich was perfect.
It only took 18 months, but the dog volunteering that Baby Dog and I used to do is finally back! It was cancelled in February 2020 for obvious reasons and just started up again this month. It’s organized through New York Cares and it happens once a month on the Upper West Side. Essentially, you bring your dog to the auditorium of an elderly care center and any residents who love dogs come down to play with them for an hour. We do it each month and the more dogs that come the better, so I should really post about it more on Instagram. Yeah, I’ll get on that. (The next one is scheduled for August 10th, email me for more information if you’re interested.)
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Above Photo: Can you tell how excited she is?
Since it’s Restaurant Week, Irene and I went to The Grid restaurant at the Great Jones Distillery mainly because I was intensely craving good halibut. And yes, the food was good but it’s extremely overrated. I’m sorry but no restaurant ever should charge for basic bread and butter. It’s offensive. The service was good, but you can just tell people weren’t trained very well. And for a place so new and beautiful, you’d expect a lot more.
I saw Mr. Saturday Night on Broadway and all that I can say is wow. A perfect show and a beautiful theatre. Can every single comedian in this town go see it immediately before it closes next month? It’s wildly good. I’ve never felt more seen than I did in this song sung by a comedian’s wife.
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Above Photo: Mr. Saturday Night on Broadway, July 2022
The only time I like to drink rose is in the summer (I’m pretty original, I know) and I think I found the best tasting one of life.
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Above Photo: Ruby Red Rose with Grapefruit
I’ve started making garlic butter almost once a week now and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop? It’s so superior to every other thing inside my fridge. Sure you could buy garlic butter, but it tastes infinitely better if you make it yourself, I promise.
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Above Photo: Homemade garlic butter
I made this lamb bolognese from Antoni Porowski and I think it’s even better than the Alison Roman one that I love so much (it might be because I bought the coriander seeds whole and then ground them up in my spice grinder? The flavour of that individual spice is so crazy good, I had no idea). Obviously one is a fast lamb recipe and one is a leisurely one, so I’ll continue to keep both in my rotation. But you absolutely have to make the three hour one at least once to see what I’m talking about. Especially since Costco sells ground lamb now.
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Above Photo: Antoni Porowski’s heavenly lamb bolognese
I  went to the  Alamo Drafthouse in Brooklyn for the first time and what a perfect theatre. Love that they have a beautiful bar attached (House of Wax).
Some Things I Watched:
I really had low expectations, but I went to see Marcel The Shell With Shoes On and it was beyond sweet.
Indecent Proposal is on HBO right now so I watched it for the first time and loved it.
I saw The Thomas Crown Affair and it’s such a party. I love this kind of 90s movie. Perfect in every way.
I watched the first episode of Loot and it really just wasn’t for me.
Of course I saw the whole first season of The Bear and it’s as good as everyone says it is. With the exception of the sister, I don’t know if she’s just written badly as a character or the actress is just wretched. Either way, it’s the worst part of a great show. Episode seven is clearly the best one. (Also, I badly want to make this recipe now.)
I also saw the whole first season of The Summer I Turned Pretty and this really scratched my summer/teen itch. Perfect summer show.
I saw the Victoria’s Secret documentary and oh my god, I might have to stop shopping at Bath & Body Works now.
I started the new season of Only Murders In The Building and other than the inclusion of Amy Schumer, it’s been good so far.
I also watched Porky’s and Screwballs for some reason?? Obviously I hated both? I think I was just so desperate for an old teen movie that I haven’t seen.
After those two disasters I have no other choice but to cleanse my palette and rewatch Clueless.
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Above Photo: My absolute favourite Cher outfit
I’ve been there a few times, but I think it’s time to declare how much I officially hate Astoria Park. The RFK bridge above makes it way too loud, the jet skis in the water blast the worst music, the grass has more brown patches than any other park in the city, the train is at least a 15 minute walk away, there are zero food or water vendors anywhere. WHY DO PEOPLE LIKE THIS PARK? God, it’s awful.
I made these cheesy poblano corn enchiladas and they were really good. In hindsight I should’ve added some shredded chicken or something to them to make them slightly heartier.
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Above Photo: Cheesy poblano corn enchiladas
I finally went to see the Amityville house and even though they changed the eerie window frames, it’s definitely still creepy. One thing I wasn’t expecting? How nice that town is! It’s like some big secret, I think. Would totally live there.
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Above Photo: The house from The Amityville Horror, July 2022
I made my favourite strawberry crumble coffee cake and it’s always a winner. Pro tip: use cake flour for the cake part and use regular flour for the crumble topping to really make it perfect.
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Above Photo: Strawberry crumble coffee cake
I ate the July-only-special Emmy cheeseburger dumplings from Mimi Cheng’s and they were good but not as good as the first time I had the last year. Am I evolving past cheeseburger dumplings…? God I hope not.
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Above Photo: Emmy Burger Dumplings (Emmy cheeseburger dumplings in collaboration with Pizza Loves Emily/Emmy Squared, dry-aged beef, aged white cheddar, crushed pretzels, caramelized onions, and Emmy Sauce) Pan-fried only. (8 pieces) $17.25
Incase you care, August is the only month you can apply for SNL tickets so get on that, if you so desire.
Also, if you’re going to the CNE in Toronto next month, you can get free tickets for kids under 13 if you fill out this form.
Some things I’m looking forward to this month: I’ll continue to mark things off of my summer list, I can’t wait to see my friend Dusty’s movie that’s being screened at the MoMA next week, and I can’t wait to take a few more little summer trips (stay tuned).
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Above Photo: Summer bitches
If you’ve got any interest in reading last month’s roundup, you can see what went down in June over here.
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brewyork · 2 years
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Go By Train! Five brewery excursions by New York City’s commuter rail
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On a hot summer day, it’s almost always cooler in the suburbs than it is in the concrete jungle of New York City. If you’re looking for a quick escape from the city by train to cool off with a cold beer, there are a whole bunch of breweries that are accessible with a train ride out of Penn Station or Grand Central and a quick walk. So grab a backpack, grab a train ticket, stay hydrated, and consider these day-tripping options this summer.
Bright Eye Beer Co, Long Beach, NY Train Stop: Long Beach, LIRR Long Beach Branch Trip Time from Manhattan: 57 minutes
What to know: This beachside brewery is practically spitting distance from the LIRR terminal at Long Beach, and is conveniently on the walk from the station to the beach. A hot tip for beachgoers: you can buy a combined train/beach pass from any LIRR vending machine. On your way back to the city, the Long Beach Branch boasts three other breweries at stops along the route: Long Beach Brewing and South Shore Craft Brewery at Oceanside, and Barrier at East Rockaway.
What to try: When was the last time you drank an Altbier? How about one with New York State ingredients? The Mad Good Altbier is a nice departure from the hop-forward beers out there. The Regular Slice Blonde Ale hits the spot on a hot summer day.
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Twin Elephant Brewing Company, Chatham, NJ Train Stop: Chatham, NJ Transit Morris & Essex Line Trip Time from Manhattan: 1 hour, 4 minutes
What to know: A relaxing 20-minute walk through quaint suburbia puts you at this taproom that spots a friendly vibe and cozy patio. Twin Elephant just celebrated their sixth anniversary, and if you’re on the east side of the Hudson, you might not know much about them. But they have a ton of Jersey stans who promise you it’s worth the trip.
What to try: Their Nosh series of American IPAs are always reliably bright and hoppy, but don’t sleep on their Zen Fountain Fruited Sours or the Forevrmore, a light, hoppy, crushable take on an English Pale Ale.
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Obercreek Brewing Company, Wappingers Falls, NY Train Stop: New Hamburg, Metro-North Hudson Line Trip Time from Manhattan: 1 hour, 40 minutes
What to know: This under-the-radar beer darling of Dutchess County is not just an attractive day-trip option for its beers, but also for its surroundings. Tucked into rural farmland that’s a little over a mile walk along country roads, it’s worth the haul for a relaxing place to drink their uncomplicated, delightful beers on a sunny, warm day.
What to try: Any of their DIPAs will do the trick, their French Press Coffee Stout (pictured above) is a nice afternoon pick-me-up, and be sure to get a bottle of one of their farmhouse ales to share with your drinking companions.
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North Fork Brewing Company, Riverhead, NY Train Stop: Riverhead, LIRR Greenport Branch Trip Time from Manhattan: 2 hours, 14 minutes
What to know: In a town that boasts six breweries, it’s hard to stand out. But this brewery in an old firehouse that’s about three blocks from the LIRR station stands out for both its venue and its beer. Go on a brewery crawl of Riverhead, but be sure to carve out plenty of time here to enjoy North Fork’s fine beverages, some of which include hops grown on their own farm about 15 miles further out east.
What to try: The Sticky Bandit IPA uses Magnum, Cascade and Chinook hops grown on their hop farm and the Glazy Boi uses yeast doughnuts from North Fork Doughnut Company — this spot truly celebrates local.
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Fox N Hare Brewing Company, Port Jervis, NY Train Stop: Port Jervis, Metro-North/NJ Transit Port Jervis Line Trip Time from Manhattan: 2 hours, 35 minutes
What to know: How adventurous are you feeling? If you’re “five-hour train round-trip from the city to visit a brewery” adventurous, Fox N Hare is very much worth your time. Located just a five-minute walk from the end of the train line on Port Jervis’ Front Street, the brewery’s excellent and varied beer lineup caters to every drinker’s taste. A bonus: your train ride will go over the highest and longest train viaduct east of the Mississippi.
What to try: Start with a Primitive Pils, but don’t miss the Delaware Rye-sing, a Rye IPA that harkens back to a simpler time in beer, and references the mighty river that’s just two blocks from the brewery.
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maidperu99 · 2 years
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