Gee Whiz...It's Halloween

(Originally published on 10/30/18)

These are definitely times that try men's souls—and women's souls, too. Happily, there are welcome and necessary distractions on the horizon. First there's Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and the—pièce de ré·sis·tance—Christmas. Wait a minute...wait a minute...wait a minute. Some people will be offended by other people's Halloween costumes. And Thanksgiving will be seen by a fair share of folks as celebrating historical misdeeds, not to mention gluttony and cruelty to turkeys. Then there's Christmas with its religious trappings in public places and cries of an outright "War on Christmas." If there is actually such a thing, it's a futile one. The candy canes, wrapping paper, and Whitman Samplers are already filling up the aisles of local stores. In a couple of days, Christmas music will be playing on the radio without pause for the next two months.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas at the Gee Whiz diner in Tribeca.

Look what the tide dragged in...or the sewers dragged out.

Moments after this photo was taken at Battery Park, I spied a rather somber chap paddling a canoe in the distance. He had a tear running down his cheek.

The Bronx is up but the Battery is down, the latter being where the "Best Hot Dog in New York" can be found.

In an episode of The Munsters entitled "Herman the Rookie," the legendary Leo Durocher gets whacked in the head by an airborne baseball. He queries his companion as to the location of the nearest ball field. When he learns that it's eight long blocks away, Durocher employs a bit of logic and deduces that's where the ball first took flight. He then sets out to find the obvious hitting prodigy—the wind beneath the wings of the errant ball—and sign him to a big league contract. And it turned out to be, by the way, none other than Herman Munster. Recently, I cast my eyes upon this impressive line of trophies in an apartment building's window and thought about Leo Durocher and his razor-sharp logical thinking. Who is the wunderkind therein, I asked? Sign that mystery kid up to something.

The quartet was a no-show.

It is said that a zebra can't change its stripes. But a New York City subway zebra board can when a station is closed for repairs. Well, at least the color of its stripes, which go from black to red.

What will they think of next? Traffic signs with drunk drivers in mind.

New York City is a diverse town. Sundry garbage as well...

While on the subject of refuse. Here's a shot of a tourist posing for a picture with a New York City garbage scow as the backdrop. 

Some squirrels have all the luck. This fortunate fellow calls home the environs of Battery Park with a bird's-eye view of Lady Liberty.

Whiskey, you're the devil.

Not really sure how effective this campaign is going to be.

If you look hard enough, you'll eventually find a pizza pie with your name on it.

The George Washington Bridge is always a better visual from afar.

Birds flying south for the winter? No, pigeons in flight to their nearby lair—the W238th Street subway station in the Bronx—where they regularly roost and shower the two-legged on the street below with feathers and excrement.

Daytime moon over a man called Q-Ball's building.

Say it ain't so: Ben and Willard are facing eviction.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)

The Mount Airy Lodge Life Lesson

(Originally published 4/23/16)

As a boy growing up in the Bronx during the 1970s, there were more than a few television commercials that repeatedly played on local New York City stations—businesses chumming for customers in the sprawling demographic. Mount Airy Lodge in the Pocono Mountains—the “premier honeymoon hideaway” with its floor-to-ceiling mirrors, heart-shaped bathtubs, and every conceivable amenity—was among them. “All you have to bring is your love of everything,” the resort’s commercial jingle intoned. No mention was made to bring a credit card, too, which I suspect would have come in handy. Their ads always ended with the melodiously uplifting lyrics: “Beautiful Mount Airy Lodge.” Why would anyone want to honeymoon anyplace else? After seeing its various commercials—probably hundreds of times over the years—one couldn't help but feel that Mount Airy Lodge was somehow immortal and would be there for generations to come.

So, imagine my shock when I discovered the place had fallen into utter disrepair in the 1990s—a dilapidated eyesore that had little choice but to face the wrecking ball lock, stock, and barrel. Even beautiful Mount Airy Lodge had a finite lifespan. Nothing lasts forever, it seemed. (Having been completely demolished, the Mount Airy Casino Resort now sits on the same terra firma.)

My earliest recollections of ubiquitous television commercials involved the Palisades Amusement Park in Palisades, New Jersey, just across the Hudson River. Its jingle became embedded in my brain at a very young age: “Palisades from coast to coast, where a dime buys the most. Ride the coaster, get cool in the waves in the pool. You’ll have fun, so come on over. Palisades Amusement Park swings all day and after dark.” If memory serves, I visited one time and one time only on a rather bleak, rainy afternoon. Naturally, I anticipated enjoying the park on a sunny summer’s day in the future, when I was a little older and could ride their famous roller coaster and swim in the park’s saltwater pool. But despite what the eight-year-old me surmised after watching its commercial invitations on the television over and over and over, Palisades Amusement Park, too, was not immortal. It shut down its rides and attractions for all time in September 1971. A developer made the park’s owner an offer he couldn’t refuse, and the old park space is now a series of luxury apartment buildings with stellar views of the Manhattan skyline.

And worth mentioning here is the Haunted Mansion in Long Branch, New Jersey. Its commercials ran continuously during the warmer climes, and they always ended with the bloodcurdling invitation: “The Haunted Mansion in Long Branch…it’s waiting for you.” I, though, never did get to “wander through its myriad of secret passageways and winding labyrinths” because it burned to the ground in 1987. Again, further proof that nothing lasts forever. Fortunately, I visited its ethereal neighbor to the south, the Brigantine Castle, in Brigantine, New Jersey. It, too, ran oodles of commercials on New York City airwaves—and it, too, is no longer with us. So, gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

Finally, and perhaps the bitterest pill to swallow, was the closure of the Albert Merrill School in Manhattan. One commercial with spokesperson Jimmy Randolph ran for years on local TV. It featured a young woman, by happenstance, bumping into Jimmy Randolph, who was standing pensively on the busy streets of New York and staring off into space. She recognizes him immediately as the man who does the commercials for the Albert Merrill School. Coincidentally, she’s looking for the very place, which gives Jimmy the perfect excuse to walk her over there while simultaneously extolling this grand vocational school's countless virtues. It’s funny, but this was the only commercial I remember ever airing, yet the actress recognizes Jimmy Randolph from the commercials. A Seinfeld episode? Post-modern television for sure. But even the Albert Merrill School is a mere memory now, which I never would have thought possible when I was a teen. It, too, didn’t endure as a permanent fixture on the landscape to aid and abet students of all ages in this increasingly dog-eat-dog world of ours. Rest assured, everything here today will be gone tomorrow—one of these days.

The Sidewalk Phalanx and Other Annoyances

(Originally published on 12/11/19)

A few days ago on a relatively busy Manhattan street, I encountered the always-annoying sidewalk phalanx. It consisted, in this instance, of three women and a canine. One was walking the dog with a flexi-lead. Another pushed a baby stroller with a child presumably in it. As I was in the phalanx's rear, I cannot say for certain. The third woman on the right flank had no evident duty except to run interference with her companions.

Anyway, the foursome (plus a possible little one) gingerly ambled along, stopping suddenly when Fido veered off to his left for a smell break. We passersby in their rear were left with no choice but to awkwardly zigzag to and fro and endeavor to slither by the oblivious quartet. Of course, I don’t blame the dog for being a dog. It’s the two-legged, who repeated this stop-and-go over and over as they made their way ever-so-slowly up a long city block, whom I hold responsible.

Hear this: Ladies, you are not alone. You are not walking in the Quiet Trails State Nature Preserve in Cynthiana, Kentucky. You’re on Chambers Street, which isn’t all that far from the canyons of Wall Street. 

Speaking of being steamed...

Today in my local Rite Aid drug store, I watched a woman at the check-out counter not miss a beat in a seemingly trivial personal conversation on her smartphone. The aggravating icing on the cake was that she laid the phone down on the counter along with her purchases and I could see the person she was talking with from my position next in line.

And moments after that close encounter of a very annoying kind, I almost got run down by a stupid kid on a bike. Seems it never occurred to him that when turning a corner on a sidewalk that a fellow human being might in his path. That is, after all, what sidewalks are for: People walking on them.

I can certainly understand why New York City has these in some snippets of parks.

And now for something completely different: Christmas on Canal Street. One sale is bigger than the next. If you are shopping for junk in volume, this is the place to be.

No matter where I go, though, there are constant reminders of what slobs we the people are. In this particular case, somebody cut his or her lunch hour short. Must have been really bad news. Sadder still, this person used a pay phone.

All I want for Christmas is a little less garbage.

Question of the day: Would you rather have a piano prodigy in the family or a coffee-making one?

Non-oppressive and anti-imperialist books? Sounds like fun reading. I wonder what the shop's owner pays in rent. Perhaps he owns the building...

I've heard there is a shortage this year of a favored Christmas tree, the Fraser fir. Seems, though, that I hear about some such shortage every year.

A cynic might conclude that it's good for business and the bottom line.

Saw a news story that this Manhattan tree seller sells twenty-foot Fraser firs for $6,500. And worth every penny if one is Michael Bloomberg.

The King of Jing-a-Ling doesn't worry about such things.

Nor Frosty...

Fear not: He'll be back again someday!

Yes, we are closing in on 2020 and Big Brother is watching you and me...

Finally, I've heard all about people seeing Christ's visage in the strangest places, like on a piece of burnt toast or in a field of dead grass. Strange, but I recently saw my image on a subway tunnel pillar.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)