Homo homini rodentius est

On the Highline

Section 2 of the Highline, running to 30th Street is now open. Bird feeder as modern sculpture. Faded ads and the ubiquitous tag of the 90s: Cost Revs
At its best, the HL is like a museum threading through the city's industrial past. I really want to know what's behind there... A compelling view into a section of the city frozen in time.
Heading north past 23rd Street. At the end of the road - a balloon park by AOL. Highline as yellow brick road; Time-Warner Center as Emerald City.
The Chelsea 'meadow'. Early morning sun and mist. Hipster couple post nuptials. Sorry, Mrs. Hipster, hubby was checking out the runner...
Click to enlarge

The Highline Park has opened a second section that threads a path of green through the old industrial section of Chelsea. Very impressive — all that’s missing are laser cannons to pick off the yuppie runners who crowd the narrow paths…

My Elizabeth Taylor Story

Have you ever been surprised by the reappearance in a dream of a long-forgotten image from your past? Something that seemed to have little or no significance at the time? When it happens to me I am astonished at the seemingly random collections that make up our memories, the odd things that are retained, somewhere imprinted in the folds of flesh. Offstage scenery awaiting the call to action.

One night, in my sophomore year of college, I was walking home from a Chelsea studio where I took a printmaking class. Passing 18th Street, I noticed a cluster of people and lights about midpoint between 5th and 6th avenues. Back then the area was still fairly industrial so it was unexpected to see activity at that time of night. I had to investigate and strolled toward the lights. As I approached I saw that it was a new restaurant — an incongruously glamorous looking place with a velvet rope and everything! And as I scanned the people standing outside to see if I recognized any of them a long black limousine pulled up in front and out stepped… Elizabeth Taylor. I was standing about 20 feet away and she was unmistakable. She turned back toward the car for a moment, perhaps to gather her coat, and as she did she glanced across the street. I was the only person standing there and suddenly those amazing eyes looked right at me. Another moment later and she had swept through the restaurant doors and was out of sight. After being stunned, I ran all the way home to my dorm to tell my friends and we all ran back to see if we could spot her leave the restaurant but after a long wait decided that we had missed her departure.

For all these years, I’ve liked to think that my image persisted somewhere in Elizabeth Taylor’s memory, an anonymous little actor perhaps retrieved once or twice to populate a dream. It was fun to think that after so many years of her being in my head I was now in hers. The news of her death was especially poignant — you see, she took a little bit of me with her.

3 Minutes

Passed Karen Finley at Broadway and Waverly Place. She was wearing a leopard coat. Last time I saw her was back in the 80’s, when she performed [“I’m an Ass Man”] (strong stuff).
Turned off Broadway onto Washington Place and passed a gay couple. One guy said to the other, “I’m living in my head.”
Turned onto Mercer and noticed EMT and police helping a homeless guy into an ambulance. I had seen the man the previous day crawling across Waverly on his hands and knees and wondered if he would survive.
5:30 pm 5:31 pm 5:32 pm

Three minutes during a walk home from dinner in the East Village on February 28.

How to quit smoking

I have smoked for over 10 years, but as of today it has been exactly one year since I had my last cigarette. Although I knew within a few days of quitting that I would never smoke again, we rely on temporal benchmarks to reassure us of the solidity of our resolutions and, so, I feel I can safely once again refer to myself as a non-smoker. It’s a good feeling. It’s been good for a year.

I wrote once before in a [post] about the meanings of smoke that I was then in the midst of an attempt to quit — using nicotine patches. That attempt failed. Within days of ceasing use of the patches I was back on the butts. I suppose the patches work for some but, for me, they simply shifted the source of nicotine from smoke to the patch and — even at the lowest available dose — once the patch was discontinued my body still needed a source of the 7mg or so of nicotine it expected daily. It occurred to me that the goal should not be nicotine replacement but nicotine reduction through slow titration — dose reduction — to a point where quitting would be relatively easy. Commercial products, produced at only a few dose levels would not do it.

I was smoking about a half pack of Camel Ultra-lights (approx. 0.4 mg nicotine per cigarette according to [this] FTC source) at the time I began the reduction project = 4 mg. of nicotine per day. Irony – my “normal” daily dose was already about half of what the lowest level of patch provided. No wonder I didn’t quit using the patch — it was actually making me more dependent on nicotine. My goal was to slowly reduce the number of cigarettes I smoked each day until I was down to just 3 or 4 per day — assuming that at a daily dose of only 1 to 2 mg. of nicotine, my dependency would be mostly psychological rather than physiological and easier to quit. I gave myself no time limit and did not rush the process, coaching myself that since it took me a long time to become a half-pack a day smoker it should take awhile to comfortably get back to being a 3 or 4 cigarette a day smoker.

It took a few months to get down to my target of 3 to 4 cigarettes a day (one for each of the major triggers: morning coffee and after meals). And, just as I was debating about how to actually go about quitting, Providence intervened: I got food poisoning from eating a bad hot dog last July 4th. I was sick as a dog for days and, of course, could not smoke at all. After the fourth day it dawned on me that I was completely free of nicotine dependence — since it only takes 4 days to completely get through nicotine withdrawal. Had there been any side effects of the final withdrawal (e.g., stomach cramps, constipation, headaches, etc.) they were completely masked by the far more severe symptoms of food poisoning. I realized I need never smoke another cigarette — I was free.

People have asked me if I found it difficult to quit smoking — and are surprised when I say “no”. The method I hit on — slow reduction of dose dependence and then just wait to get sick (hopefully nothing as dire as food poisoning) so you can get through withdrawal with any symptoms masked by the illness — was really pretty easy. Interestingly, I have also never experienced any cravings since I quit. There were a few behavioral triggers that made me think of smoking sometimes (the strongest: dealing with work stress, which I had adapted to by relying on smoke breaks that got me away from the office for a few blessed minutes…) but they were eventually extinguished.

The takeaway: nicotine is an addiction, but a fairly manageable one using standard dose titration methods and reliance on “masking symptoms” of any transient illness that can help you through the final 4-day withdrawal.

A Patrician Idyll

I know I should probably want to hate this image and everything it represents, but I can’t because it’s so damned perfect. Frankly, I admire the commitment that BB shows — in the midst of a near-Depression, with the raging rabble verily at the gates of the compound! — to a lifestyle and an ideal that seems quaintly antique in a culture that paves over its history and sells out its future for a quick buck.

O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in’t!

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