The Happy Valley

Rockland has always been hard for me to describe. It's north of the city without being considered "upstate", which is how native New Yorkers refer to the vast area outside of the tri-state metropolitan area. Nor is it traditionally "the 'burbs", like the much more convenient and easily accessible "bedroom communities" of northern New Jersey, Long Island, Connecticut, or Westchester; all within reach of mass transit connected to the city. I would say: "Well, you take the West Side Highway north to the exit for the GWB (George Washington Bridge), then stay in the right lane until you diverge onto the Palisades (Palisades Interstate Parkway). You go through New Jersey for a bit until the pavement changes. Then, you're in Rockland."

In this century, there's a sign that lets you know you're in New York State once again, (because the road follows the contours of the mighty Hudson River and its imposing bank of cliffs we call "palisades"), and through the state of New Jersey. There are no billboards or advertisements of any kind, and there never will be, because the highway is on federally protected land. You may thank President Theodore Roosevelt for that. It will also never be a commercial thoroughfare, because of the high amount of old stone overpasses that would knock the block off of any trucks or buses that missed a couple of small signs in warning of such a thing. And that's on a clear day.

At night, when the weather is rainy and the Hudson churns out a massive fog bank thicker than any smoke you've ever seen, there are no lights to guide you through the dips, twists, and turns the dark road takes. Federal parks prohibit the use of street lights to protect the land and the animals living there, but not any humans driving carelessly in the middle of the darkest night they never drove in before. Lost, yet? Good! Try this one on for size, as a common question Rocklanders are often asked: so, how do you commute to the city without taking a car? So glad you asked!

I can drive to a parking lot (or walk a mile to a bus stop that may or may not be marked), where I wait for the a New Jersey Transit train that makes me transfer through Seacacus Junction for another train that'll take me into the city (or I wait for the weekday-only commuter buses that go through Jersey's Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson River to the Port Authority bus terminal), and that's only if it's weather-permitting on a workday during the week, with no transit strikes or retaliations by New Jersey for some New York-related offense that is totally geo-political, like the snafu that closed the GWB access roads for awhile, barring any other type of construction work that might be happening across any of the major NY-NJ conduits. 

Or, you could drive in-and-out of the city every day of your work life until you either retire or die first, and good luck with the cost increases of gas, tolls, parking lot fees, car insurance, and car maintenance. Lost, again? Good! Try fitting that into any casual conversation with some freaked-out office worker from anywhere else, competing and struggling in the biggest and most expensive American city we have, after their third or fourth drink, because even native New Yorkers from the city get glassy-eyed over it. And that's just the way we like it. Welcome to "The Happy Valley", one of the most beautiful spots in the entire lower Hudson Valley region. You made it! Now, go get yourself a drink. You earned it. But don't drive there. The state police are everywhere! Got ya!

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hudson_Valley#

Better Safe Than Sorry

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uber_%28company%29

In another highly coincidental sense of "timing" that's my life (we're calling it that today, right?), I planned to write this piece about common sense and excellent grandfatherly advice many weeks ago, one that dovetails nicely with current crimes in your tabloid media, but more on that a bit further in. Suffice to say, my original notes contained references to timeless classics like not having your head up your own ass, which works in any century. Much like the adage "don't take rides from strangers", it fits neatly into any time and any type of human life.

And so it was. I kept my bearings crossing city streets without developing weird tics like saying the street name three times before attempting to do so, which was also nicely contained within the phrase "always watch your back" and I did, so it worked. When our airspace was violated during 9/11, my then-boyfriend and I were already deeply invested in his flight training, which was part of our moving back to New York City. He and I spoke at length about American naïveté regarding travel and airplanes that was echoed around the world. A Yankee ballplayer had infamously flown a small light plane over the gusty East River and right into the side of a building years before the debate about our precious urban air-spaces entered into your mainstream lexicon.

My English-born boyfriend was aghast that a city as famous as New York would even allow anyone like a private pilot within range. It was a huge gap in our collective awareness that wasn't in step with the rest of the world. People from Israel are so accustomed to a strong military presence at airports (like other "hot zones" around the world continually rife with conflict) that they've long considered it an enormous problem for us that had to change. Ditto with England's airspace. In fact, many European-Americans feel comforted by military personnel on duty at popular public spaces, and so do I. 

I fucking love seeing buff dudes in tight outfits with big guns at the Port Authority (sorry, my hetero is showing), especially with their awesome K9 units. Yay! Big "papas" and their highly-trained, bomb-sniffing dogs!! I bet we'd have a lot in common, like dog training and special ops certification programs in the woods! I was immediately cheered on by the gearing up of a big TSA-based presence at our international airports, because it sends a message around the world that we care about our people and their transportation, because we do. It's an accurate reflection of our passion for life that was missing before.

That was the tone of my message before some pyscho-killer chose this week to be an evil fucking scumbag. We had a big, open, media conversation this past summer about Uber in New York City that I thought would quickly trickle down to this rest of the country, but I guess fucking not, so let's go over it again. Don't get into cars with strangers. Period. There's a reason why people need certification, licenses, DOT numbers, and photo ID's to drive people around the city, and this is it. Back in the day, we called sketchy-looking foreign dudes who drive around looking for fares "Gypsy cabs", which meant you had as much luck getting to your destination safely as you had getting advice from shaking a Magic 8 ball. It was "buyer beware" all the way there and back, because once you get into someone's car, they can pretty much take you wherever the fuck they want to, without benefit of a professionally-installed GPS like modern taxis have that marks the 21st century, you dumb fuck.

It is not at all like booking a room on a website that's certified to provide professional B&B service, because a room is not like a car (for obvious reasons), just like an unmarked car is not the same as a professional cab driver, you dick. For the record, AirBnB was created by two RISD-trained intellectuals who care about their business, so that's a big fucking difference right there. Mayor de Blasio said pretty much the same thing: it's not that we want to deprive any individuals the right to earn a living in a very competitive city, it's just that your lack of training is what made some Michigan nut into a killer, see? Do you now see how that works?! Good! Your nutcase is not the same as my kind Grandpapa from Queens with his Medallion-owned yellow cab. Get it? No?

OK, here's more: your ignorant, fucking welfare kook with a borrowed, uninsured car IS NOT THE SAME as a professional limo driver looking to pick up a few fares on his way back to the garage, by picking up a few tourists around Times Square in the middle of our hottest summertime days, with his plush-air-conditioned ride. Do you get it now? Of course you do, you insane fuck. Remember those shitty Chinatown buses from way back that took transplants from the city to Boston "on the cheap" until people died, which is exactly like those crazily over-stacked MegaBuses that advertise "holla for a dolla" rides around Chi-Town will do...until some cheap-ass muthafucka dies from what should be a standard commuter bus route. Pay the fuckin' full fare for a real bus or stay home, you broke-ass idiot. Fuck! I don't want to have this conversation again, feel me? Yes, you do. Now you do.

https://www.everipedia.com/jason-brian-dalton-1732170173668679/

Buses: 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinatown_bus_lines
https://twitter.com/megabuscrashes

Cabs:
http://www.whosdrivingyou.org/rideshare-incidents 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illegal_taxicab_operation 

Planes:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2006_New_York_City_plane_crash 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prohibited_airspace 

A "How-to" Guide for New York

I've joked about creating a pamphlet for new New Yorkers for years, witness as I've been over the years to a certain amount of crimes that are wholly unnecessary, but I've been told by more than one person that "common sense isn't so common" and I've certainly found that to be true. You'd be amazed how many horribly performing people there truly are in the world, major businesses included. Once I quickly got my bearings in business (because I had to), I spent a lot of time observing the human condition as I went about my day.

You see, unlike the "diva" designer who is only qualified to set type in a layout, I was trained to do just about anything, which naturally opened me up to ridicule among less talented workers, after I graduated to begin my apprenticeship. I was prepped for it at art boot camp, where the first salvo of the day was often delivered by that famous author you read at the library, in front of some extremely wealthy diplomat's kid, so shame and embarrassment over something like hard work became impossible for me to feel in any workflow.

Unlike putting on typical "airs" about being a native New Yorker (another way of "separating the wheat from the chaff" among so many avidly striving out-of-towners seeking fame and fortune in our fair city), I just did the work, like my forefathers who built this city. I didn't talk endlessly about it, because I worked with people who wouldn't have been able to understand or tolerate any of our real history (in lieu of so much posing and phony posturing), so most of the time I listened and spoke only when necessary, which is a great survival strategy for anyone working in a town full of strangers that you already own, they just didn't know it....yet. Today you do!

After so much time spent listening to other people's fantasies about who they want you to think they are, I would slowly drink my pint (that was put to scrutiny too, for not "being fast enough" around certain desperate yenta's from Long Island who needed that second round badly to try and keep pace, or conversely for being "too fast" to a certain type of reticent, slow-witted people out west) and take it in, as part of my ongoing studies about the human condition. I became a sort of covert cultural anthropologist without really knowing it, and in your repetition I became a master of the human arts.

And so, without much further ado, I present to you my fairly glib but actually totally valid list about rules to New York City living, for the slow and the stupid, as well as the rich and insane. You thirsty natives already know what to do, so do it.

#1 - Do not spit on the subway tracks. Chinatown, this means you. We will fine and ticket you for it, plus it's totally disgusting, which is part of the point, I'm sure. Next time we're on Mainland China, I'll be sure to spray Lysol around while ripping off your dumb face masks. Getting a fucking grip! If you don't like us "Gweilo", then go home. Good luck not starving to death in a labor camp. NO SPITTING.

#2 - Do not ride the subway after midnight, especially if you are a woman. If you can't afford the cab fare home, don't go out with your co-workers who may want you drunk and vulnerable on a train ride by yourself. Pickpockets like drunks asleep on the subway, too. 

#3 - Look both ways before crossing our city streets. This is mandatory. You can be run over by a passing car, cab, truck, or biker in a second, and not even know what hit you. Dumb-ass. Stay home!

#4 - Stand against a pile-on while waiting for a train to come into the station to avoid the crazies, like rouge slashers (yes, I follow the local news) and phantom pushers of people onto train tracks. Plus, you'll line up with the car doors, because conductors use them to align the trains. You're welcome. Assholes.

#5 - Yes, there are maps and schedules for subways, but things happen quickly to underground trains that are hundreds and hundreds of years old immediately after leaving Brooklyn Yard. Adjust for it, muthfucka, or just fucking leave. People get sick, trains derail, rains flood low-lying areas (duh, you dick) and shit just simply breaks from all the use. Get a fucking grip, and always leave ahead of time to reach your destination. Dick!

#6 - Expect serious delays and re-routing on the weekends, because that's when we service those trains you take for granted, shit-head. Expect to tack on additional travel time, because you will have to run an obstacle course so severe, people get panic attacks over it. Really. We can't do a lot of rail work during commuting hours, because millions of jobs and lives depend on our labors, so again, just fucking deal. Ass. Stay home!

#7 - Watch your bag and wallet AT ALL TIMES, no matter where you are in the city. Urban areas are rife with crime, just like Rome, London, or Tokyo, you ignorant fucking hick. Keep an eye on your purse!

#8 - This goes without saying, but there is NO SLEEPING ON MASS TRANSIT. Shit pops off quickly in the fastest town on the planet, and I know your khaki-wearing, office-working ass cannot handle it. Just stay out of the way while warriors do their jobs.

#9 - Last, and not least, summertime in the city smells bad. Really fucking bad. Get out of there. We're like Europeans: the city shuts down most operations during the summer, so get out of town and enjoy it. Take a bus or train to the beach or the mountains, but just go. What do you think that bum who reeks of piss and crap smells like, simmering to a near-boil in the heat of summer? Yep, that's what it is like underground. Best to avoid it, if you can.

There you go. Now, get out there and succeed! Just think about my rules as you're crossing over the GWB, looking at the massive skyline, and remember this: we conquered all that first. We built this city.



***UPDATE*** In lieu of this morning's snow (combined with your general lack of ability to STAY HOME and have a nice three-day weekend), I'd like to add to my list of rules regarding weather and other typically human conditions:

1A - If you are not an emergency worker or crisis manager for the City of New York, nor part of our government, or the crux upon which an entire business stands, stay the fuck home. I thought that would be obvious with a Friday morning snowfall, but New Jersey, I saw you dumb fucks clogging the tolls to get onto the GWB this morning and by the looks of your vehicles, you are definitely NOT in the leading minority that runs shit, you broke-ass mutha-sumptins. Next time, stay home or the Governor will seal-off town again. Do you really want that?! No?! THEN STAY HOME. Enjoy a freakin' snow day for once...jeez...

2A - ALWAYS PUT TRASH INTO THE PROPER RECEPTACLES. Believe it or not, New Yorkers are not dirty animals who love your filth, you tourist fuck. I know you think this town is here for you to piss away your money on dumb sidewalk crap, but unlike Las Vegas, we do not like seeing topless hookers in Times Square on a weekday afternoon with children rolled around in their prams by their well-meaning parents. That is not our culture. Keep your coked-up hooker shit in Nevada where it belongs! It's legal to die there from an overdose of cocaine and several highly toxic human diseases. Here, we take the time to throw away our garbage into the many, many obvious trash cans that are all around town, along with those pretty flowerpots you see in Spring that are maintained by city workers. We care about our home. We care a lot.

3A - RECYCLE. RECYCLE. RECYCLE. It's the law, and it is mandatory. It's the way to keep our towns relatively vermin-free and our immediate environment clean, with long-term health benefits to every single living thing on this planet. You do not have a choice because (and this is key), recycling is mandatory in New York. Violate our "green-clean" ethos and we will fine the fuck out of you, chasing you all the way back to your much cheaper po-dunk town, because here we don't have time to work through your mental static when a good hard hit to the wallet is much more effective. Get it? Good!

Blood for Oil (Fuel-Mad Americans)

http://bzfd.it/1GUWZmk

The one weapon worldwide that warring people always reliably count on against "evil" America is our supposed lust for oil and petroleum products. Speaking as someone who walks downhill daily as part of her commute, I can assure you that there is no such person, at least not how it's portrayed overseas as an excuse for violence and murder.

Americans use transportation regularly because one of our states, that land called "Texas", may be the size of your entire country and then some, which is difficult to envision if you've never been. When I lived and worked briefly in Germany, Arnold Schwarzenegger was a newly-elected Californian governor. The next day, my studio-mates in the atelier tried to use it against me, which was baffling, because I lived in New York City. I tried explaining it to them, but without an illustration like the one you see below, it's almost incomprehensible to a Euro.

The distance from Berkeley to New York City is 2,900 miles—driving time of 42.5-48 hours.

It felt like my time in Denver, when I tried (in vain) to explain to the designers and editors around me how many people we watched die, live on t.v. during the 9/11 attacks, because they also tried to dismiss it immediately. America is so vast, it is a state of mind that's much bigger than other countries on the globe, which makes it unknowable to anyone who hasn't seen it or tried to travel across it. Freedom, like being American, isn't a state or ethnic group; it's a choice.

When I explained to my German co-workers that I would have to fly on a plane (or two, or three, depending on fares and airline hubs) for SIX HOURS just to reach California from New York, I could see an "Aha" moment spreading through the group, which was solidified later on in  my trip when an editor and I blithely mentioned we were driving to Amsterdam for the weekend. They were shocked and scared beyond belief by such a journey as ours (and by beautiful women, too!), until we once again mentioned that we could drive for hours in New York and still remain in our home state. 

To us, driving a mere 2-3 hours to be in another country is so easy and ridiculous a hurdle to accomplish, we cannot imagine NOT doing that regularly. Same thing with the English language: if you had to fly for 10 hours just to get to another country, you'd probably use less languages, too, Euro. Trust me on that. Anyway, English has become the lingua franca for world business and trade, which makes sense to me, because New York City is the capital of the world. 

Writing that is still no excuse for gluttony, just because you may like shiny new things. I love good design and classic American cars as much as the next person, but to pull ourselves out of this mess, we have to buckle down and conserve. This means you! I really liked the German system of limiting car usage and petrol to orderly days of the week divided by neighborhood, like so: on Mon-Weds., these streets conserve fuel and cannot drive, so my co-workers biked as part of their daily commute instead, to a train equipped with bike racks. 

"Petrol" is considered a very expensive luxury in Europe overall, which is the right idea to have, because the cost of using too much gas is a price we can't afford to pay anymore. Think about the melting of the polar ice caps, and you're already there. Same with your air conditioning running at full speed whenever you feel like it, because you're overweight and always overheated. Fuck that! Staten Island has already experienced crippling power outages and it's not even August (the hottest month here), yet.This world needs to go on a diet, and not a Texas-sized one either. We need to change the world.

Little Cemetary

Meet "The Blauvelts"!

We live among the walking and the dead here in the Hudson Valley region, because the first Dutch settlers who bought the island of Manhattan for some wampum many moons ago to create the city of "New Amsterdam", also took the first opportunity they had to buy vast tracts of land upstate. In fact, Native Americans used the wetlands here on Pearl River's hilltop for a well, not just farming. Why would anyone want land that swamps out every year? Because it was easier to irrigate their European crops through flooding, that's why.

And that's exactly what many European settlers did: replicate their vast landowning system overseas to control property through agriculture and land resources. It's what's passed for Rockland County nobility over the years: that same sense of ownership and entitlement from controlling the land that marked the oppressive regimes of the corrupt European monarchies many of our ancestors rebelled against. How revolutionary of them to do so! Sigh....that's the rich white man.

And John P. Post! The British have not yet arrived.

And so it was that on one Monday morning in yoga, a nice German grandma had to let me know in conversation that one of her children is married to one of "The Blauvelt's", because as a first generation American, she's on much less solid ground than I am as a native, and she wanted me to know about her very important family connections. 

I name-dropped some rich German publishing credentials and European towns from my working past that she hadn't known first-hand as a German native, because she followed her sister over here as a teen to our now re-named "New of York", in honor of our country's next wave of wealthy landowners: the Brits.

Here lies a Mary Van W...something Dutch, and a Perry: Dutch and British!

Except for one very big and powerful distinction: I'm the publisher she follows, and I'm in yoga class with her instead of humping the grind that is the tri-state commute, a trial deemed by weaker souls than me to be so bad-ass, many outsiders write t.v. shows and movies about it. 

Enjoy your time here on our land of freedom; a land we fought for dearly and created, as it ever evolves and changes with the times, because that's what I call "The Royal Treatment".

Aha! A "Bogert" name-changer: much easier to trade with the Brits.

Here it sits on the sub-divivded remnants of their large land parcels.

Time, erosion, and neglect have removed many of their names anyway.

Goodbye, Ye Olde Blauvelts! Maybe someday one of their own will take care of this burial site, but not today. I'm sure they're hard at work at one of their very important desk jobs in the city.

Poetry in Motion: Twilight

Bus ride home in twilight.

To the Reader: Twilight

Chase Twichell

Whenever I look

out at the snowy

mountains at this hour

and speak directly

into the ear of the sky,

it’s you I’m thinking of.

You’re like the spirits

the children invent

to inhabit the stuffed horse

and the doll.

I don’t know who hears me.

I don’t know who speaks 

when the horse speaks.

Around Town: Morning Commute

On the Edge

Tunnel Entrance

Alphabet City