B’s Blizzard: To The Bridge
Continued from The Road to Williamsburg
Fuck. I’m stuck in the middle of the block. I look ahead of me, and all I see is over a foot of snow covered street. Behind me is the trail i created. I decide the best way out of here is to back up and reverse my tracks. Before I can do that though, I need to clear some snow so I can get out of the rut I’m in.
Of course I don’t have a shovel though. All I have is a snow brush for my windows. I figure it’s better than my hands, so I start to sweep the foot of snow from my wheels. I go around my car sweeping as quickly as I can so I can get home. After a less-than-valiant effort I try to reverse down the road again. Wrrrrrrrrr….Wrrrrrrrrrrrr…… no luck. BR2 stays put.
“What were you thinking, man?” a strange voice yells at me from the sidewalk.
I look over and see an unhappy hipster smoking a cigarette on his stoop.
“I don’t know, man. I just wanted to go home.” I blurt back.
I jump out of my car to sweep some more.
“I’d help you if I had a shovel, man.” Unhappy Hipster snorted at me.
I ignore him. As I start cleaning my second wheel, my phone rings. I reluctantly take it out of my pocket, but see it’s Tony calling.
“Is that you in the middle of my block?”
“Yea.”
“I was taking a piss when I looked out the window and saw you! Why didn’t you call me? I told you to call me if anything happened.”
“You’re sick man. I didn’t want you to get even more sick.”
“I’m coming down with a shovel.”
Click.
With a sigh of relief I continue to sweep snow away from the wheels. I jump baclk into the driver’s seat, and try to reverse again. Still no luck. In my side mirror I see Tony walking up to my car. It’s as if Batman came to save the day.
We set our plan of attack, and we eventually realize it’s the snow under my car that’s immobilizing BR2. Methodically, we begin to shovel and sweep around the wheels and underneath. After a few tries, I suddenly am able to reverse about 20 feet before I get stuck again. With the glimpse of hope and a bit of strategy, we realize what it’s going to take to get out of Dodge. Tony walks back to his house to grab a second shovel.
For the next hour or so we dig and reverse about 10 - 30 feet at a time. Cold. Tired. Wet. Determined. We carried on. We make it to about 100 feet from the corner, A girl with a shovel walks up to us. I think she’s about to offer help. Nope. She’s looking for her stranded boyfriend “somewhere on North 7th.” We tell her we saw a car stuck towards the top of the street. She thanks us and trudges along. We wished her luck and shoveled on.
At times, Tony would be practically under my car shoveling snow, while I would be shoveling the snow behind my car so that we can cover more ground when reversing. Tony’s father shows up out of nowhere with another shovel to help. It was starting to seem like we were freeing Chilean miners.
Another hour goes by, and we finally make it to the corner of freedom. As I’m about to turn onto Wythe, a blonde tired-looking guy walks up to us with a shovel. I think he’s about to offer help. Nope. He’s looking for her girlfriend that’s been looking for him stranded “somewhere on 7th.” We point in the direction we sent her. He thanked us and walked on looking for her. We wished him luck.
It’s now about 2AM and I’m finally free from the grasp of North 7th. I thanked Tony and his dad. They give me directions that should lead me onto the bridge while keeping me off small streets that most likely wouldn’t have been cleared yet. He says to go towards Roebling and to take his shovel.
And so I do.
I make it onto Roebling after a few close calls. I’m about 3 blocks from the bridge’s entrance finally! There’s two cars stuck though near the intersection to freedom. One is a taxi, and the other a white pick-up truck. The taxi cab driver has help digging him out. But the pick-up’s driver is sweeping his way out with a snow brush. A sense of apathy comes over me, and so I stop the car and walk out offering the man a hand. Well, more like Tony’s shovel. He turns towards me and thankfully accepts.
I’m thinking he has this big fancy pick-up, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble getting him out. We take turns shoveling and and rocking his truck out for a while. I look up to the cab and they are still there. They’ve managed to get some drunk guys from the bar on the corner to help push. While they worked on the cab, here we were trying to free this white pick-up truck.
I suddenly get hit with the tired like hell stick and tell the guy I need to take a break. It’s been an hour trying to get this guy out. So after two hours digging myself out, here I am spending another hour digging someone else out. I’m totally covered in snow. Freezing. Drenched.
Did I mention, I was wearing jeans with holes in them? Really stylish I tell you. But useless in the fifth largest blizzard New York has had. I was also wearing fingerless gloves because, you know, they are more comfortable. My scarf had stiffened up to become a sheet of poster board; I had to take it off. Don’t forget my jacket either. It wasn’t my Columbia jacket that’s built for this weather. Instead it was my looks-good-with-brown-boots jacket. Well that started to stiffen up like a board as well.
I decided to walk back to my car to warm up a bit, when I suddenly hear screams of celebration. The cab was free! It’s driven off! I turn back towards the pick-up thinking this freedom could be contagious. The guy has made a little progress as he’s moves his car about 5 feet. We try a few more times with little luck. I notice the man is wearing an MTA jacket. I ask him about it, and he tells me he’s a bus driver that just finished his shift and was trying to go home. I ask him about the bridge, and he mentions that the opening from Roebling to the bridge was closed.
“CLOSED?!?!?!”
To be continued…
B’s Blizzard: The Road to Williamsburg
It was the day after Christmas and my plans for the day were simple and perfect.
Yumcha (dim sum) with the guys.
Basketball with the guys.
Dinner with the guys.
It all went as planned. Yumcha was delicious. We balled for about 4 hours. After playing, we scarfed down dinner at 69. I got the usual. Spare ribs with black bean sauce over rice. We left around 9pm and my night of the blizzard began.
The 5 block trek to my car took 15 minutes though it should only have taken 5 minutes. Between the knee deep snow, wind and cold, the walk was anything but brisk. On the bright side, my car didn’t have much snow on it to be cleaned off, and so Paul, Tony, Eric and Carol piled into my car. After a little dusting, we headed out towards Flushing, Queens. Only half a block into our journey a bus had gotten stuck at the intersection blocking our most direct way out of Chinatown through the Manhattan Bridge. Without hesitation, we rerouted towards the Williamsburg Bridge. Slowly we winded through Chinatown and NoLita eventually getting onto the WillyB.
Once off the bridge, we carefully drove the BQE towards the GCP. My speedometer never broke 15 MPH. Along the way, many cars were hopelessly stuck in drifts and banks. It was especially crazy seeing most of the cars were not even facing the road’s intended direction. We eventually got to Flushing dropping off Paul first. It took us about an hour to get to his stranded girlfriend. As we pulled into the gas station she was waiting at, I caught a glimpse of how happy she was to know Paul was there.
Drop-off one was complete. We pulled out and headed towards destination two about a mile down the road. Slowly we drove down Northern Boulevard avoiding pedestrians fighting for space on the streets since the sidewalks were of no use. More and more cars have given up along the way, but BR2 (Big Red II aka my baby, my ride, my whip, my 2 ton coat with wheels) had no problem driving the powder filled roads.
Twenty minutes later at drop-off two at Eric’s home, we make a strategic pit stop. I pissed. Cold air really makes the bladder active I tell you. Eric suggested to fill my washer fluid tank with de-icing fluid to help keep my vision ice free. Great idea! BUT, we couldn’t find the friggin’ washer fluid spout though! After fumbling with a flashlight in the cold night, we gave up. Instead we poured it all over the windows in hopes it’d hold me over through the rest of the night. As Tony and I are about to pull out of his driveway, he hands us a couple bottles of water and a container of brownies. Did he know something I didn’t? I accepted the rations in hopes that I wouldn’t need it for what should be a quick ride home.
We back out onto his street, and begin towards Williamsburg. Only 30 yards later, we are blocked off at the intersection by a duo of cars stuck in their path. We try to wait patiently as they each rocked back and forth trying to get out. No luck. As the clock was now past 11, Tony and I decide to go around one of the vehicles and take the perpendicular street snaking our way back onto Northern where we’d have a clearer road to drive on. Rather effortlessly, we make it back onto the GCP and towards the BQE.
Cars are driving even slower than earlier in the night. The highway looks like a sea of stranded ships. We nearly miss our exit onto Metropolitan Avenue, but we make our own path plowing through a non bank only a couple yards from the fork of the highway. As we wound down the exit ramp, we start to notice unshoveled streets all over. Luckily Tony knows his hood like I know where all the Popeye’s within 5 miles of my home.
We go down one street, only finding we can’t turn onto another. Virgin roads covered in at least 2 feet of snow sprouted everywhere we turned. Going down one street we notice a car stuck in the middle of the block ahead of us. We try to outsmart the obstacle by making a right onto the cross street. All of a sudden we stop. Shit. We’re stuck! I decide to reverse, but before I can even change gears a loud honking from behind alarms us. A big truck is now directly behind us. He’s honking at us thinking we’ve stopped intentionally. As the driver tries to confront us, I quickly silence his aggravation noting we were stuck. I tell him to back up. While this happens, two good samaritans offer to help us out by pushing BR2 forward. They were two cute girls out for what seemed to be an casual walk in the snowy hipster land. Not wanting them to possibly get hurt I refuse their offer.
As I try to move forward again, we suddenly hear a thud on the back of my car. The two cute girls have taken the initiative to push us forward. Wow. Though commendable and kind. It didn’t help. I asked them to stop, and we reversed out after a couple of rocking motions. The truck behind us had found another way around the area, and so he was nowhere to be seen. We thanked the two cute girls, and reversed down the street about two blocks onto another way to Tony’s home.
We eventually find our way onto Wythe. Tony lives on North 7th. We eventually get there. Before turning left we look down and his street is also untouched by any plows. I decide to go down it anyway since BR2 had been pretty stoic up to this point so far. I pull up to his door, and my rally snow race partner walked to his door. T’was a crazy but fun night getting him home. he told me to call if I needed help, and I simply agreed. We bid our farewells, and I looked down North 7th. I drove down the block confidently when BR2 just stopped. I tried to reverse, but my 4x4 wheels were spinning as if they were being tested.
Drive. Reverse. Drive. Reverse. Drive. Reverse. Nothing. Fuck.
"Sleep is life’s speed bumps."
Daily Chant
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music.
That’s my morning chant as I walk out the door making sure I have with me what I need everyday. I think I need to add self-confidence to the list as it seems as if I’ve forgotten to carry it with me these days.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music. Self-confidence.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music. Self-confidence.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music. Self-confidence.
Phone. Wallet. Keys. Music. Self-confidence.
Grace Jones
Brienne helped me recollect the following childhood memory…
I met her when I was around 11 years old. It was a few days before the Christmas I believe. She came into my parent’s toy store that used to be on 14th Street just as we were about to close for the day. She made my parent’s day as she bought enough toys to pack her limo that she arrived in. She made my day, because I could say I met someone that knew Conan the Barbarian.
"I like brown rice. But I love white rice. I tend to trust love more than like."
Slumber
Every night, just before I want to sleep, I have a sudden urge to work on something. Whether it’s catching up on the unfinished or starting the countless ideas, I want to do it. But my body is tired. Some nights I push through and work. Most nights, I submit to slumber.
When I was in my twenties and teens, slumber could wait. These days she has a firm grasp tugging at my lashes. I love to rest. But once I wake, my mind is a tornado of to-do’s. My list encompasses buried art projects, that next great business idea, the last song I heard from the night before, an unfinished bed design, another way to lose weight, an urge to write music, another reason either for or against getting an iPhone, smut, how I want rearrange my living room, bills I can’t pay, and everything spoon+fork.
I lack the kind of discipline I once had to achieve all of these tasks. And I blame slumber—my slumber…me. At one time, if i wanted to do something, I just did it. Now my body speaks for me and I hate it. It tells me to do nothing. It tells me to sit there. It tells me to Facebook. It tells me to eat. It tells me to scratch my nuts. And the worse part is that I do it sequentially. It’s so sad that I can’t even multitask at doing nothing these days.
As my 33rd approaches, I must tackle this dilemma before it tackles me. Tomorrow I begin.
A Designer’s Street Cred
Why is it that people don’t tell lawyers, mechanics, doctors, construction workers, professional athletes how to do their job? Whereas people have no problem telling a designer, “Make that smaller. Move that there. Use this font.”
I suppose we just don’t have enough street cred or people think since it’s “simple” they can ask to see it. The ever infamous, “Can I see something? It shouldn’t take long.” taunts us. I think the next time we hear this taunt, we should just swing back with a tone tougher than Tyson, “I’m the designer. You’re not. Let me earn that buck you’re giving me.”
Now don’t get me wrong. I understand the need to listen, make revisions, and the power of collaboration. I agree that’s important, but clients seem to forget that. They don’t understand that what we do is driven by an objective — and neither taste nor aesthetics. Those tactics are simply weapons of trade. It’s not about red vs. purple. It’s not even about circle versus square. It’s about what we are trying to communicate through the design. We are not simply making something look pretty. We are professionals that make design driven decisions while understanding your design goals and challenges.
Take a peek inside my world for a spell. I spend more time conversing with clients, reading anything relevant, absorbing anything that inspires me, learning about my clients’ businesses, scribbling ideas, and exchanging concepts with colleagues than actually “designing”. The truth is that all the stuff in the beginning is indeed my design method. You know, I’ve been designing your logo since the day I became a designer. Remember that.
The computer. The color chips. The sketching. The artsy stuff. The things people imagine design to be, is a speck of my time. And I can do that because I’m that good. That is why you pay me. (I would add “the big bucks” at the end, but we both know the truth on that one. Don’t we?) That is why you’ve taken the risk in coming to me for an idea.
If the idea I come up with doesn’t please you. It’s ok. I won’t cry. I won’t even flinch. Let me know and tell me why it’s not successful. It’s real important though that you don’t mix that up with why you don’t like it. Second, let me know what parts of it did work and why. Even if it’s a tiny little detail. Because you know what? That extra space or lack thereof was intentional.
Whatever you do, do not start designing in my place. It makes you look ugly and desperate. And frankly, it bores me. I know you’re picking colors and nitpicking because you’re lost and anxious. That is why you are not a designer.
I hope people realize, that showing off their knowledge of what a Pantone color is, or how to use the paintbrush tool in Photoshop is very useless. We are not taking out a pimple from that prom photo back in high school, nor are we are redoing your room because you saw this OMFG great episode of Trading Spaces.
Even though your business is your baby, don’t treat it like one. Otherwise you’ll be wiping shit off its ass forever. You hired an accountant, a lawyer, and other professionals to help you raise your baby. Let me, the designer, do my part to provide you my expertise. This way you can focus more on spending quality time with your baby, instead of a tub of baby wipes wiping off that Jackson Pollack.
To Do
Take amazing photos of the not-so-amazing.
Write a children’s book.
Become a patron of a museum.
Finish designing my apartment.
Teach design.
Record another album.
Lose 65 pounds and never find it again.
Own a dog.
Poster designs.
Create something that positively influences the way we live and think.
Dream bigger.
Have a family.
Grow s+f to its potential.
Have my own secrete recipe.
Eddie Opara Joins Paula Scher and the Pentagram Gang
There are countless designers whose work moves me. Amongst them, there is Paula Scher. I will presume you know her, or at the least her work. It’s her supposedly ballsy approach to design that seems to separate her from the others. She’s not one of those “fuck you” designers like David Carson or Rick Smith (of Tomato) that gets to work on many of the kool lifestyle and entertainment gigs. Instead she works with the likes of banks, schools and non-profits.
Recently, however, I’ve come across another designer in which I think I will admire. He’s Eddie Opara. Like Scher, it’s not his body of work that gains my admiration, but instead his approach to what can easily fall into the boring bin. Their work remind me design can’t be boring if you don’t let it be. He’s also a nifty speaker. Watch his talk at the Walker Art Center when you get a chance.
Like Scher, he is now a partner at Pentagram. His addition continues Pentagram’s tradition of working with designers that are more than about aesthetics. The partners are a great sample of how design can influence culture no matter what medium or audience. When walking by their Flatiron office, I feel as if I’ve just passed by the Hall of Justice and inside are super heroes protecting the world from evil design. With the addition of Opara, I’m sure evil design will always be put in its place.
And before I sign off, imagine this… Opara and Scher collaboration!
14 Minute Journey
The train ride into the city is a brief one. There’s just enough time to get through the first 6 spreads of the paper. I can listen to about 4 songs if I’m lucky. Or on those long nights before, it’ll be the perfect nap after waking up earlier than I wanted to.
My trip feels longer when she gets on the train though. Supple lips and the occasional sigh of relief catching the train to get her to wherever she’s going to just in time. Her hair leaves a faint trail of her morning shower just below her shoulder blades. She looks around for a coveted spot in which she can lean on a railing. I almost offer mine. I doubt she’s had breakfast. Today she has a book in her left hand. I can’t quite catch the title, but it looks like she’s just a few pages in. The crease in the spine hardly leaves a wrinkle. No ring on that finger either. That’s a good sign.
I want to say something to my fellow traveler, but what? Ding! My stop arrives, and I exit the car with regret in tow.
