When most people think of hurricane Sandy, they may picture destroyed homes, flooded streets and a pitch black downtown Manhattan.
These are the same things I pictured in my head as I sat on Long Island, trapped by a sense of danger and glee that I was free from school. Of course there were thoughts of those that were suffering in my head, but such things were overcome by the delicacies of sleeping in, reading for hours on end, and eating massive amounts of junk food and candy.
While I may not have been overly affected by the immediate effects of the storm, it was the aftermath that sent my social life into a downward spiral of trendiness.
Once the sun was back and the leaves in the yard were raked up, I decided that it was time to go back to Manhattan to get back to some kind of work. It was a noble gesture, but ultimately one that cost me my freedom from ridicule and jest.
As I was packing up my car to make the trek, my mom alluded to a strange notion that there was going to be a shortage of gas.
This was just the beginning of the line. This monstrosity extended about 13 blocks and took about four hours to complete my tour of duty.
Having faith in our war effort to procure gas, and being a huge supporter of blowing up mother nature for more oil, I scoffed at my mother, and proceeded to haul ass at 90 miles per hour towards my doom.
I arrived in Brooklyn only to find that just about all of the gas stations had lines extending several blocks long, as if it was a wait for a new ride at Disney that took your wallet for a spin.
At first i was OK, I conserved my gas by skating a bit, but ultimately, trips to far out lands such as Bay Ridge and Staten Island left my gas gauge begging for a precious refill.
By the time I actually came around to compromising with myself to get some amber gold it was like half the world’s supply of oil had been used up.
I ended up having to wait on line for several hours in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, only to get myself just below half a tank of gas due to limitations on fuel.
Despite my sub-standard amounts of fuel, I trekked back to Long Island to get some free food and other supplies from my folks. Their situation was no better than mine, with folks waiting eight hours plus for gas deliveries that sometimes never came.
After a day and a half of hanging with the folks, I decided that I must return to the concrete jungle to again resume my work, but now my gas tank was a breath about a third full and my car burns gas like a wildfire.
But I did not come back to this city unprepared.
I knew that the trains, in particular the L and G trains, were going to be a shitshow.
To combat this terror, I was forced to hang up my skateboard and trade in my four wheels for two. My dad walked me to the shed, unlocked the doors, and showed me to my new bike.
This bike will kick your ass.
The beast is called a RoadMaster. It is an 18-speed death dealing, mountain eating and hipster crushing machine.
The tires are covered with treads that should belong on a Humvee, and the shocks on the front remind me of a dirt bike.
I am now three days deep into my biking excursion and I personally find it to be an enthralling and cathartic experience, but those who call themselves my compatriots have different opinions upon the matter.
My newly found love causes them to retch and belch up names terms such as “bike douche” and apparently I have been inducted into some bike nerd army.
Apparently all I needed was a means to get into the city during inclement times to be enlisted into this lifestyle.
I think back to a few weeks ago when all I had to do to leave my apartment and go to school was just plug in my headphones, crack the newspaper, and tunnel underground to the giant silver worms.
Now I must mount upon my mechanical steed, exert energy, and know that a Nor’Easter is right around the damned corner.
Look forward to my next piece about how I have to take the fucking bus due to 50 mile per hours gusts that would blow me off the Williamsburg bridge.
I have been a blank slate when it comes to food. Before I moved to this fast-moving city, I kept myself going on diets of hamburgers, Arizona iced teas and canned chili.
Obviously not the best diet.
After moving to this bustling city, I began to experiment with different types of food, starting with the very cultural choice of having a side of pork-fried rice instead of white rice with my orange chicken.
After a few crash test tastings of food, I eventually found myself eating dishes like Tokyo Spicy Curry at the ramen spot near Baruch, Pad Thai with extra peanut sauce and spice at Little Basil, and now finally, I have overcome one of the greater obstacles in my journey: food from Afghanistan.
The restaurant itself was like entering into an adventure of it’s own. The front door is adorned with a tree that seems to branch out and then fall into the patterns constructed from glass tiles.
As I stepped in, a smell of tea and some sort of stew filled my nose. Being that it was only three in the afternoon, we had the place to ourselves. After we sat down, we all ordered our own drinks and dishes.
To start of my foray into the unknown tastes of Afghanistan, I started with a kettle of Shir-Chay.
It is a simple tea, but one that is traditionally drank by most Afghans. The drink is construed from a mix of milk, sugar, cardamom and rose petals.
When I was expecting the drink, the idea of rose petals floating around in my drink did not sound like a possiblity that would be too far off.
I was given a pot and a glass and the server then poured my first glass. I must disclose that I was surprised to find that a liquid that looked like coffee with cream in it came out, sans the rose petals.
The moment that the concoction touched my lips, I was instantly in love. It had a sweet taste that tickled the sense as it went down.
I was surprised by how much that I liked the tea. I finished my first glass and was overtaken by a melancholic feeling, thinking that I was out of tea. This sadness was wiped from my being once I reach over and lifted the kettle, which shook due to the fluid that took up its interior.
Then came the time to order. i was having quite a lot of trouble deciding, but one must afford me a touch of sympathy due to my lack of cultural know-how.
I may have ventured into new foods schnozz first, but this time I had no previous coaching or encounters with the food.
After some serious soul-searching, I decided to order an Afghani pasta dish called Asheh Gooshi.
The name itself was enough to intimidate the daring food tester in me, but the ingredients cast an allure over me that was impossible to overcome.
The noodles themselves were homemade in the house, and they were topped with a lamb meat sauce combined with a large dose of yogurt sauce.
I continued to sip on my tea until I saw the waitress coming around the bend. Her hands were revealed from behind the walls and I set eyes upon my dish.
The noodles were wide, but thin, and covered with a red and and white sea of sauce with small islands of meat poking out from the top.
To consume such a meal is unheard of in my small tribe of Long Island dwelling compatriots.
The most cultural dish one can find out in the sticks of Farmingville is a small sushi joint that would surely have garnered a “Pending” grade from the department of health.
I dove into the meal, not knowing what exactly to expect from the multi-colored meal, but the moment the first forkful of noodles, meat, and red and white sauces hit my palate, I was hooked.
The dominant taste of the dish was was tangy, due to the yogurt, but once one moved past the initial sour demeanor of the sauce, the flavor of the spiced meat kicks in. All of this was brought together by broad noodles, which had a slightly salty flavor that completed the dish.
Overall, my experience at Bamiyan was one that I left me stunned. The food and drinks were top notch and the prices, although a bit high, were not as bad as they could have been. My impression were that this is some real authentic cuisine, and it is food that is prepared with a strong sense of culture and spice behind behind each meal.
A young artist couple that moved into Detroit because of the cheap property prices.
America as a whole has seen better times. Cities that once were stand-up representations of America’s manufacturing power now lay in ruins as the economy is in turmoil and China’s cheap labor has taken away the same jobs that once made this nation great.
While there are plenty of stories and statistics about unemployment, Detropia, a film by Heidi Ewing and Rachel Grady, depicts the state of decay that has fallen upon the city of Detroit.
The film focuses on how a city that was one the fastest growing city in terms of population is now facing a declining populace.
Grady and Ewing are the founders of Loki films, which was founded in 2001. Since the creation of the indie film company, they have produced films such as Jesus Camp, Freakonomics: The Movie and Dissident: Oswaldo Paya and the Varela Project.
Each of these films shed light upon a facet of society that is normally hidden from the view of the public eye, and Detropia certainly is one of their greater projects in the sense that they personalize the sad story of Detroit, because it is one that may not be known to most Americans and other viewers.
The film was shot in various locales throughout Detroit, and it focused itself upon the lives of those who have been negatively affected by the economic downturn. Some of these downtrodden characters are auto workers and the union boss who vies for their rights to Mayor David Bing, who faces the daunting task of figuring out what to do with the growing number of unoccupied land.
The movie accurately portrayed a land that has definitely seen better times. A small backstory to the growth of Detroit is given to viewers as subtext while visual scenes portray the dilapidated structures and vacant houses that line entire blocks.
An aspect of the movie that aided the telling of this story is the various cast that the filmmakers followed during the production.
Instead of taking sweeping B roll of a destitute city and overlaying some expert’s opinion on the state of the city, Ewing and Grady employ people who are surviving in the city. One of these denizens is a video blogger who explores the ruins of this once automobile mecca.
Ewing and Grady also focused their feature to delve into the lives of those who were affected by association. One such example is a bar owner whose pub is down the road from a gigantic factory which used to be owned by GM and now is vacant. His customer base plummeted and the directing duo tell his story through a series of hazy bar shot scenes with old Motown music playing to remind the viewer of the better times that the dive had seen.
The movie leaves viewers off with a sense that the city could come back to the limelight, but the city will never hold the grandeur that it’s residents once believed to be the status quo.
Why hasn’t this become mainstream fashion yet? Photo Credit: Peter Jackson I New Line Cinema
By Sean Creamer
watching a film is a concept that always something that has eluded me. Why would someone sit and watch the adventures of others, when they could easily get up from the couch ridden with potato chip crumbs and soda stains, don a set of leather armor, take up the sword and create an adventure of their own (disclaimer: the writer does in fact do this from time to time).
While I do not watch movies often, I personally subscribe to a love of fantasy. Although this world that we live in is chock full of unexplored land, I feel that delving into a fantasy film such as The Lord of the Rings or the space cowboy television show Firefly grasp my adventurous spirit and will hold me upon the decrepit couch long enough to enjoy a good story and shovel popcorn into my gullet.
I love the idea of a coming of age and fantasy movies rarely fail to deliver what I want to see when someone comes of age. Sure, a protagonist can get the girl of his dreams after some romantic hijinks or someone can have a breakthrough with a disease, but real life sucks. This is stuff that kinda goes on everyday.
And honestly, who wants to see stuff that you can see by just looking through your kitchen window?
No. I require the slaying of beasts or human devils to prove that a character has indeed earned their stripes and has stepped fully into the darkness of the world created for them, whether for good or ill.
I can relate with the characters who find themselves thinking that they are destined for greatness, but the adventure has not yet presented itself to them. It is kind of how I feel about life, that everyone has an adventure waiting for them.
While not all fantasy characters may experience a beginning this humble, it is one that I am drawn to and find that it is one of the purist forms of character development.
Don’t get me wrong: I love to watch Seth Rogan and James Franco battle crooked cops and toke on the Pot Marijuana in Pineapple Express, it is always a trip, but nothing compares to the enchanting scenes and magical scores of The Fellowship of the Ring.
A viewer is simply whisked away to Hobbiton’s rolling pastures and homes under the hill. The splendid acting and effects of this movie create such a fantastic world that I cannot help but take up my grandfather’s old sword and challenge my brother to intense duels to the first blood of the thigh.
From the first page of the blog, it showed supporters of general democratic ideals weathering out the rain. Cardboard signs were protected by plastic bags and umbrellas as these die-hards showed off their zeal.
Of course your crazies with crosses were present, but for the most part, those who appeared, were there to show their support or disdain for the democratic party.
The photographer, Doug Mills, took an approach where the snapped photos were taken from peculiar angles. One that stuck with me was where a reporter’s legs can be seen through the bow-legged stance that the cameraman has taken. It reminded me of all the work that goes into making events such as this readily available for all who have a connection to some sort of media outlet.
Another shot focusing upon legs is one where a woman is having her snapshot taken in a photo booth.
All-in-all, the lens blog of the democratic convention’s first day seemed to revolve around various players getting ready and it ended with a powerful picture of Michelle Obama, standing tall after her speech as the crowd gives her a standing ovation.
The first photo of the second day of the convention is one that is particularly striking. It shows a young black woman with a sign that displays “yes we can, again.” and next to her is a young man in an Abe Lincoln suit whose sign proclaims “Republicans for Obama.” To see such a cast of characters come together around Obama is astounding. One may usually think that democrats and republicans are beasts who are constantly at war, but one can see that bi-partisan politics does not mean that republicans fully subscribe to Romney and vise versa.
Another photo that struck me was one of technicians cleaning up the stage in preparation for Bill Clinton’s speech. I found their attire to be quite amusing. They themselves looked like speech givers from the angle of the photo taken, but closer inspection reveals that they are cleaning the teleprompter, not reading from it.
Another photo that reached out to me was one of a Michelle Obama Barbie doll. It made me wonder what kind of games one would play with that kind of a doll. Perhaps a mock-up white house with a plastic Will Smith figurine (yes, they exist!!) as Barack.
After a few of these candid shots of people from the convention, the photographer then gets serious, posting a slew of photos from various speeches and of course, Slick Willy’s speech.
The third and final day of the convention blog begins with Obama accepting his nomination as the Democratic party’s representative for the 2012 election. Like Michelle’s photo, this one is taken from behind and above him, which gives a scope to just how many delegates were there supporting the O-man. After that photo, the others reverted back to the “people on the street” mentality.
A man was shown carrying a bundle of commemorative tee-shirts that laud Obama’s nomination. I wonder what would happen to those shirts if another democrat had gotten the nomination out of left field.
Someone would have lost a lot of money and I bet that they would be shipped off to some third world nation where the message of shirt is lost, but the warmth and comfort of clothing is not.
Multimedia Round-Up:
I have never covered an election. I followed the McCain Obama race back in 2008, but I never followed it via the internet. It was interesting to see the various articles and interactive features from the NYTimes coverage of the DNC. While tuning into a televised program may give a viewer their own perspective on what was said, the Multimedia Roundup done by the NYTimes delves much deeper than your ordinary analysis.
One tool created was the “At the National Conventions, the Words they Used.” This device measured what words were most prevalent in every 25,000 words spoken. In simple terms, it means that they tracked issues and recorded how many times either times the republicans or democrats stated it. Jobs was almost an even subject, with democrats speaking about it eight more times than republicans. Another popular phrase was “Obama,” which had been stated over 175 times by democrats and 66 times by republicans. Then of course it is funny to see that words like “faith,” “fail,” “spending,” and several other terms with negative connotations rested on the republican side.
My personal favorite piece was the analysis of Obama’s speech-he references to the fact that the republicans listed all the problems of this nation (as seen in the interactive word search).The journalists who covered the speech did a word-for-word transcription of Obama’s speech and then analyzed it and gave comments on the side while a video would play an actual recording from the day.
Overall, I felt that the coverage of each convention was done very well, so long as one is savvy with the internet. When I had asked my grandfather to take a look at the work of the NYTimes from my laptop, he felt that the clutter was too much for him to even look at. So while we may have ultimate coverage, perhaps it may be better suited for some to just tune in.
Sean Creamer is a hard working, motivated and witty writer…When he actually puts his mind to his work.
Currently in his final semester of his final year of college, Creamer is in the process of trying to find a job, find a cheap apartment and discover a way to write while you sleep.
“Think about it! you sleepwalk, why not sleep type?” said Creamer one night when the booze took a nasty hold of his thought process.
Sean has been a writer for a few years now and has worked on student publications, real world weekly newspapers, a food blog and is now a ghost writer for a professor at Baruch College.
“Yea, all that stuff is sick, but I bet you’ve never seen someone fall asleep at a Judas Priest concert,” Creamer disclosed while washing his turbo powered 2002 Hyundai Elantra.
Yes, one of his main hobbies is falling asleep at any point he can. If you ever catch him on the streets, ask him about the time he went to the Caribbean.
“I slept the whole time.”
Besides writing and sleeping, Sean partakes in skateboarding on the dingy streets of Manhattan, rock climbing at Central Park and going to the Metropolitan to watch recorded operas for free.
“It is so loud that I can hardly keep my eyes closed.”
Sean is looking forward to blogging with you all this semester and hopes that he can stave off sleep long enough to actually garner some real coverage and not write stories based upon dreams he had while sleeping at events.
Emmy, a seasoned music/broadcast journalist, fashion and celebrity pr executive from London, decided to start her own blog last year.
It was a means to stay connected with friends and family, and documents her experience as an ‘English girl in New York’. Since arriving in the city, she continues to be inspired by it’s eclectic style mavens, world class restaurants and youthful creative talent. When not booking Hip Hop talent for The Hudson Hotel or discovering a new vintage clothing store in soho, she can be found amongst the coffee and cupcakes in Bed Stuy and is delighted to be able to call Brooklyn home.
Gari is one of the most random guys you’ll ever meet. The type that would be on the sofa watching Netflix one week and at a beach in Brazil the next. Gari loves to travel and so far has been to Jamaica, Sweden, Germany, Turkey, Kosovo, Spain, London, France and Canada (yes, he even includes Canada even though its like right there next to America). Oh and an interesting thing, Gari lived in Germany for four years and doesn’t speak German. He also was in the Army for five years and can’t read a map. All in all, he’s a cool guy that loves life and is all about new experiences, oh and I can’t forget he’s a self proclaimed foodie that loves to travel to different states and try their signature dishes, as long as they don’t smell bad or taste nasty.
As a native Yorker, Malynda was raised on New York City culture. She feels just as at home uptown or down, as she is hiking the green mountains of Vermont.
She enjoys food, books, running, yoga and biking around the city.
As an antique dealer, she loves discovering a great deal. She scours the city, basements and even an occasional dumpster to find unique relics from the past. She would love to share her best New York City finds with you.
