The East River Ferry

This week New York launched a new ferry service along the East River, pingponging between the Manhattan and Brooklyn banks from 34th to Wall Street. All rides are free during the two-week trial run, after which a one-way trip will relieve the seafarer of four greenbacks. The ferry, a smaller, cleaner version of its elder Staten Island brethren, offers a leisurely cruise down the east side of Manhattan island, passing Hunter's Point, the Williamsburg waterfront, the Domino Sugar Factory, Empire Fulton Park, underneath three of our finest bridges, and finally coming to berth at the South Street Seaport. As I understand it the route will at times be extended to Governor's Island.

As far as the competitive mode of transportation which the city predicts, I don't see much practical value. The journey is entirely too slow to compete with the subway. And unless you happen to live near one of the several piers at which the boat stops, a ride on a bus or train will be necessary to reach the waterfront anyway. Once you've subjected yourself to the brutal indignities of the subway, I figure you might as well ride it out to your destination. The city claims ridership is higher than expected the first week, but of course a. it's currently free, and b. the novelty of seeing what it's all about is still fresh. Nearly everyone aboard when I rode was armed with a camera and clearly not commuting to work.

The ferry's fate is yet to be determined, and with any luck my doubts will be proven groundless. Anything which threatens to harpoon the MTA's stranglehold on the public has my support. Meanwhile here are a few sightings from my voyage.



Awaiting the ferry on an overcast morning.


The pier at 34th Street.


Our steadfast captain at the helm.


Hunter's Point.


The Greenpoint pier and eager gathering.


A backwards glance at Manhattan.


The Williamsburg pier.


The Domino Sugar Factory of South Williamsburg.


Beneath the Williamsburg Bridge.


The Manhattan end of the Williamsburg Bridge.


The Manhattan Bridge leading to DUMBO.

Bloomsday in New York

Bloomsday in New York kicked off long before I did behind the library in Bryant Park, where breakfast was served to the assembled James Joyce enthusiasts. Arriving late, I failed to note if mutton kidney was the main offering, but anyone familiar with the Calypso chapter of Ulysses knows it would've been appropriate. Many readers recited lengthy passages from the novel and many of the audience wore period costumes. The Cyclops chapter was a real crowd pleaser. Uninformed parkgoers approached on tiptoe, curious as to what all the kerfuffle was about.













That evening another reading took place at the Brooklyn Lyceum. This one was headed by "resident Joycean scholar," Emmet McGowan. Many volunteers contributed and much Guinness was consumed. The evening was mischievously dedicated to the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice.






Yet another event took place at the Housing Works Bookstore in Soho, the highlight of which was a humorous fifteen minute encapsulation of the weighty tome for those who may not have gotten around to reading it for themselves, or for those in need of a quick refresher. Music was provided by the indie all-star band, Bambi Kino. Unfortunately my phone decided not to save any of these photos, so you'll have to take my word that it happened.

Bushwick Open Studios

The Bushwick Open Studios weekend is a good excuse to get inside artists' studios, snoop around and enjoy the complimentary olives. Some of the more eyecatching art, however, can be found outside, down a nearby alley known as Vandervoort Place.

How Books Work

[From Demotivation.us]

Pollock's Toy Museum

Pollock's Toy Museum in Fitzrovia takes its name from Benjamin Pollock, a designer of toy theater in the Victorian age. Inside is a warren of dusty rooms joined by impossibly narrow, winding staircases. Floorboards creak ominously underfoot. Imprisoned behind glass cabinet doors, forlorn wax dolls and broken robots watch visitors pass by as though powerless to warn them of a similar fate should they fail to escape the museum by nightfall.











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A Visit to Sherlock Holmes

Let's face it, the Sherlock Holmes Museum at 221b Baker Street in the Marylebone district of London is unarguably a tourist trap. Yet one no devotee of the stories could resist.


Inquisitive schoolgirl: "When was Sherlock Holmes born?"
Curator: "He's a fictional character, so he wasn't born."


Detecting equipment.


Holmes kept his tobacco in the Persian slipper over the fireplace.

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More paraphernalia.


A scene from "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual."


"The Man with the Twisted Lip."


Holmes always liked to keep a souvenir of his cases. In this instance, the dreaded Hound of the Baskervilles.

The Troubadour

The Troubadour is a historic coffeehouse in Earl's Court that first opened in the mid-fifties and figured prominently in the British folk revival of that period. The main floor is a respectable restaurant where patrons sip and chat in relative peace, but down the narrow steps in back to the low-ceilinged cellar is another story. Here, driven solo artists wielding guitars or mandolins confront the mic while a gathered audience of aficionados downs tall brews and spicy popcorn. Bands shove their tottering equipment onto the humble stage and hope for the best.

Some notable names that have descended these stairs over the years include Richard Farina, Sandy Denny, Bert Jansch, and Linda Thompson. An unknown Bob Dylan played here the first time he visited London. The place fairly reeks of musical posterity.


The Troubadour on Old Brompton Road.


This soulful young viking maiden performs under the name Mallie.

Broadstairs

Broadstairs is a coastal village in England about 16 miles northeast of Canterbury. In the nineteenth century smugglers dug elaborate tunnels in the chalk cliffs to hide their swag. Charles Dickens was a frequent visitor and finished writing The Pickwick Papers in a house overlooking the sea, now a museum. He also wrote David Copperfield here. John Buchan came to Broadstairs to recuperate from an illness and was inspired to write his novel The 39 Steps, based on a set of wooden stairs he found in the cliff face near his nursing home.