(Another) Subway Disgrace

The latest column recounts one of the most miserable subway commutes ever. This was worse than being stuck on the train for three hours one afternoon when a moron on a C train ahead of us tried to surf on top of the train. He hit his head on the ceiling of the subway tunnel and was hit by a following E train. That was not the fault of the MTA, though I don’t doubt the loused up re-routing the trains that day because I saw numerous trains passing us by on other tracks.

This latest transit shame was brought to you by our failing infrastructure, the usual MTA incompetence, and less than two inches of rain.

I love New York City and always will, but we’re in a darker part if its history right now, and I don’t foresee things getting better anytime soon.

The Countess: One Bad Ass Cat

I take pride in the fact that my cat, The Countess, is a difficult cat to love. A friend found her underneath a car on 135th Street and took her home to his apartment. I had been considering getting a cat, and since my friend was unable to keep his newfound feline companion, she came to live with me. That was more than five years ago.

Seeing as she left the litter very young, she has become acclimated to being around people and refuses to take a subservient position as a pet. She is very territorial and anyone who enters my home unaccompanied by me will have a very unpleasant time. I have run out of neighbors who are willing to come to my apartment and feed her.

The more people that are offended by my pet, the more she is exclusively mine. She isn’t here to make you happy, and she knows it. Her mission in life is to eat food, relieve herself in her exclusive litter box, and otherwise make herself comfortable in my apartment. Have a problem with that? Too bad.

Thugs Against Violence

Carolyn Baxter is trying to talk some sense into young people who are involved with gangs. Unlike a lot of rappers, she’s actually done real time in prison. Also, unlike a lot of rappers, she writes poetry, essays and books.

The story of New York, and of America, is the story of people saying “fuck it,” and doing things themselves. You can talk and protest until you’re blue in the face, the government isn’t going to do anything for you. Politicians and activists are in it for themselves, and the media is in the entertainment business.

So Baxter is taking it upon herself to reclaim rap music and hip hop culture for those who know the streets and honestly care about saving young people from going to prison. Thugs Against Violence is her effort to bring some reality in the lives of kids living a rap-fueled fantasy of thuggish violence. Think your favorite rapper is “real” because they were arrested? Listen to someone who did six years in prison.

An Atheist’s Prayer on the A train

My latest column on GetUnderground has received responses from the faithful and fellow atheist. Most amusing so far have been the semi-literate ramblings of a Muslim, or an Internet troll posing as one. I also suspect that one of the comments from my column, the comment that is the most well-written and interesting, has come from a relative.

Religious zealots are actually one of the less offensive aspects of riding the A train. The worst thing about the A train is that its part of a horribly run subway system. The real villain of my column is the MTA (Metropolitan Transportation Authority) of New York, which is managed by overpaid, ignorant bureaucrats and operated by shiftless layabouts.

The A train has been my main subway line since I moved back to New York City almost 10 years ago. At first I lived near the Rockaway Blvd. stop on the A train in Ozone Park, Queens. About six years ago I moved to Inwood, in uptown Manhattan, also on the A line. The Straphangers organization don’t give the A train the worst ratings, which speaks volumes about the state of transportation in the city.

Delivery Services Suck

The latest ‘Notes From A Polite New Yorker’ column is online, and it’s already generated some comments from apologists for DHL, which I have found to be the worst of the major delivery services.

I eventually got my package from DHL, only because my girlfriend happened to be home sick one day. Yes, it’s my fault for not having it delivered to where I work, but I called the company and they told me, repeatedly, that they would deliver it at specific times. They lied all the time.

What I also should do is form alliances with my neighbors, who might be able to collect packages for me.

Sick, as in Diseased, New York

The weather in New York this winter can best be described as schizophrenic. In early January, I attended a wedding and didn’t even bring any kind of coat, other than a suit jacket. Even a few weeks ago, when the winter is usually biting, February saw temperatures in the 70s.

That changed over the past two weeks, as New York faced temperatures in the low teems that turned sub-zero with the wind chill. One of the nifty results: everyone is sick.

New York 1 News reported that the current class of the New York City Police Academy is suffering from widespread flu. Just about everyone I know is sick or getting over being sick. I got a nasty cold a few weeks ago and was all better this past Monday. Then I started feeling tired, and like I was getting a sore throat. By Wednesday, people at work were telling me that I sounded horrible. My boss even told me to skip work on Friday (I went in anyway but left early – I would have felt worse this weekend if I didn’t get a few things done, that’s how paranoid I am)

The only pleasure that being sick brings is the self competition to cough up bigger and better pieces of lung cheese. Perhaps we can start a competition every winter among the sick as to who can produce the largest green lung goblin. Perhaps we can get the pharmaceutical companies to sponsor it – but then again, wouldn’t taking an expectorant be cheating?

Hopefully I’ll be well enough by Monday to go back to work without sounding like a Manatee dying in a sea of snot.

A Funeral for ZAK

Joseph Bernard Zak, known among New York’s punk rockers as simply “ZAK,” passed away in December. He was an 80-year-old poet and lyric writer who performed with a punk rock band, Team Spider. I interviewed ZAK several times about his life over the past several years, with the intention of writing a long and detailed story about his life and the history of Team Spider.

ZAK passed away this past December. I was fortunate to know him and I’m glad I was able to attend his funeral. ZAK died with no known family, but his friends and neighbors were his family. ZAK will live on through his poetry, song lyrics, translations and fond memories.

Please take the time to remember this extraordinary New Yorker.

Community Service

Yes, it’s been too long since I’ve blogged. I do have a new column online. Check it out.

I did my community service earlier this year, in April actually, and while I may still be slightly bitter at the bullshit arrest that got me there, my community service was painless and I got another small New York City adventure out of it.

Today in New York we had a scare and a tragedy. A plane crashed into a building on the Upper East Side. Some thought it was another terrorist attack but it wasn’t. It was Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle’s plane. Lidle and another person in the plane were killed. The city was scared, then sad, and will likely brush this incident up with all the other violent accidents and other happenings around the city.

If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Get Out of The City

We are in the middle of second heat wave, and I’m not happy about it. I can’t stand the heat, I really can’t. In my latest column, I detail why New York City summers are more miserable and oppressive than summer in other places.

One factor that I don’t mention in my column: roaches. New York City is plagued with roaches, and the summer heat makes them reproduce faster. For seriously infested buildings like mine, all the cleaning and spraying cannot compete with summer heat when it comes to the fight against roaches.

I’m leaving town this weekend, if New York City doesn’t black out before I go (knock on wood).

Keep cool and enjoy.

Poetry

My first published book arrived recently in the mail – it’s a book of poems titled Poems for Toiling in Obscurity. I gave a copy to Joel Allegretti, a legitimately good poet, and he liked them.

I’m such a lazy bastard though (as you can tell by how infrequently I post to this blog), that I haven’t done much to promote my book. Then again, only 48 people need to buy a copy in order for me to sell out.

These poems are sitting on a box on my desk, destined to be cheap gifts to people (I already sent one to my sister for her birthday).

Get yours today.

The Bright Side of Summer

Outside the air conditioned cocoon where I have confined myself today, temperatures topped 90˚ F. I can’t stand the heat. New York gets miserable when it’s hot. Heat is soaked up and stored by concrete and asphalt; exhaust from cars is trapped by buildings. People begin to get angrier and the summer sets in. More arguments break out in public and more arguments turn into fistfights and shootings. For people who hate the heat, the summer is miserable in New York City.

What keep New Yorkers sane are two things: getting out of the city occasionally and seeing attracted people of the opposite sex (or the same sex if you’re so inclined) in less clothing. For me, Breast Season starts sometime in May and is in full swing by the end of June. It’s difficult not to be caught starting at plump mammaries that are begging for your attention on the subways, streets, office buildings, restaurants and beaches every year. I have no doubt that at least 60% of sunglasses purchases by males during the summer months are motivated by the desire to breast watch with discretion.

So if we must put up with the shorter tempters, humid air and skin cancer, let’s at least celebrate the improved view.

If You Build It, I Won’t Go: Save Yankee Stadium

My latest column is finally here. I don't know if it will change any hearts and minds and make a difference, but as a New Yorker and a Yankees fan I must speak up against the terrible plan to tear down Yankee Stadium.

I hope you agree with me.

Snowblind

Today New York City sits under the heaviest snow on record. We surpassed 1947’s record snowfall of 26.4 with 26.9 inches. That’s a lot of inches. And it’s still snowing.

I’m holed up in my apartment in Inwood, thankful I had enough food in my refrigerator to preclude a trip to the supermarket. At this point it would be easier to hunt small game out of the lobby windows of my building, as Inwood Hill Park is right across the street. I’ve seen raccoons at night and I bet the ones we’ve got here in the city are rip and fat and good for eating. The raccoons would probably not be out though; they plan better for snowstorms than the rest of us city dwellers.

Last night, as the snow began to accumulate, I made some snowballs and threw them at my friends. My days of expert snowball making and throwing are well behind me and I am out of practice.

Freedom from Religion

This is considered the most offensive cartoon on the planet right now. Muslims have killed innocent people for this cartoon, burned down Danish diplomatic offices in Lebannon, and logged thousands of death threats against the cartoonist and publisher of this work. I offer it here in solidarity with those who oppose fundamentalist Islam and all other ignorant ideologies.

Barbarians at the Second Avenue Deli

In my latest column, I lament the destruction of our fair city by greedy landlords. New York is slowly being turned into a Disney-esque disgrace. There are city blocks with multiple Starbucks at the same time that live music venues, neighborhood bars and anything with history or character is torn down and paved over in the name of “progress.”

McHale’s on 8th Avenue and 46th Street is the latest casualty in this war against culture and character. A successful bar and restaurant, it had some of the best burgers in the city. It attracted all kinds of people and was my preferred place to eat in midtown/Hell’s Kitchen. It was where I met my girlfriend and where I interviewed such interesting people as the High Priest of the Church of Satan and Suicide Girl Debra Jean Danger.

One issue I don’t touch on in this column, because it’s worth a column all its own, is the plan to build a new Yankee Stadium and tear down the House that Ruth Built. Not only will this plan build a stadium over park land that has fewer seats for fans, but this will all be done with millions of our tax dollars. I’m a Yankee fan, that doesn’t mean I want to be raped by George Steinbrenner. This plan would do just that to all New York City taxpayers.

Happy New Year

It’s a New Year and it’s already off to a bad start. Thirteen miners are trapped in West Virginia, an ice rink roof collapsed in Germany, killing at least five people, and a plane crashed into the Hudson River not far from my home (both passengers survived). So far not as bad as last year’s Tsunami, but if current trends continue, it’s going to be a rough 2006.

Happy New Year.

Me and the Tax Man

Here is my latest GetUnderground.com column, where I describe my most recent losing battle with the I.R.S. I’m still battling New York State’s smaller and more bitter cousin to the I.R.S. That might be a losing battle as well. Wish me luck.

Black List: HAVING TO VOTE FOR A THIRD PARTY LOSER

Last week I voted for a third party candidate in this year’s mayoral election because I couldn’t vote for either of the major candidates. I was hoping for a more interesting yet still palatable candidate for mayor but I was out of luck.

As expected, Mayor Bloomberg rolled right over his Democratic challenger. Bloomberg is a much better mayor than I thought he would be, and he has the businesslike demeanor and independent thinking that New Yorkers respect. He runs the city well, when he’s not trying to swindle the taxpayers with multi-million dollar giveaways to greedy developers or having the police ride roughshod over the First Amendment. I guess I should be thankful that the more competent of two evils one.

Last Word on New Orleans, For Now

Yes, I know: long time, no blog. I’ve been busy and lazy, though not necessarily in that order.

My latest column went up on GetUnderground at the start of this month and documents my visit to New Orleans this summer and some thoughts about the aftermath. It think it’s one of my better columns in recent memory.

From Blackout Matt: R.I.P. Al of Hate

From Blackout Matt:

Like anyone else that ever met him or saw him perform, I was very sad to learn of Al of Hate’s death.

The first thing that I noticed when I saw Eyes of Hate for the first time was that their singer didn’t stand on the stage. Al stood in front of the stage, among the fans. I’ve seen them about a half a dozen times, not including the two shows they played with Blackout Shoppers, and every time Al was down in front of the stage.

Al was the lead singer and therefore the band’s most visible member, but he did away with the barrier between band and audience and refused the pedestal of the stage. He was a powerful and charismatic front man who insisted that the fans be in the spotlight with him. While he prowled back and forth and commanded the room, Al never denied anyone a chance to sing along.

The first time Blackout Shoppers played with them, Eyes of Hate had one of their fans join them on stage and play bass for several songs. While she was getting situated, Antonio the guitar player and Jay the drummer launched into an impromptu version of Slayer’s ‘Reign in Blood.’ It rocked, but Al wasn’t about to be distracted from giving one of his fans a chance to play with her favorite band and he cut them off. Few bands are as trustworthy and as caring about their fans as that.

The second time we played with Eyes of Hate was earlier this year at Grand Central Bar in Brooklyn. Due to some bands canceling at the last minute, we scrambled to help fill the open slots on the bill. Eyes of Hate was one of the bands to accept our invitation only about a week before the show. They ended up bringing the largest number of fans and making the show one of the best we’ve ever played.

That show they played with us was one of three that they played that day. Talking to Al outside the bar, I marveled at how they could do that. Al didn’t complain about how tired he was or anything, but just shrugged it off. It’s what you have to do if you’re in a band, he explained to me. You have to work. He gave me encouragement and said that if we wanted to travel more we need to invest in getting a van. Playing three shows in one day just wouldn’t be possible for them without their van, he said.

Al personified and voiced both the thrills and frustrations of living in New York, most notably in an Eyes of Hate song ‘Sweet Home New York City,’ done in the tune of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Sweet Home Alabama.’ He sang a song in Spanish and at one point had been studying Korean to better communicate with some of his neighbors.

He was a hardcore punk through and through and made aggressive music that had people moshing up a storm, but refused to cater to Neanderthals and thugs intent on meaningless violence. He sang about the importance of questioning authority and his political lyrics were not based on blind adherence to ideology but to a deep and abiding respect for New York and America’s beleaguered working class.

After Al died, I learned more about him as the Internet lit up with stories and condolences. Al would use his van to take people to shows, would pay for those too broke to attend or sneak people into shows that were underage. Cutie Calamity from the band S.M.U.T. told of how once Al booked a show just for her at the Knitting Factory when she really needed cheering up. Cutie is now busy booking shows to pay tribute to Al of Hate and I’m sure has more bands wanting to play than she could ever book.

At his funeral five days after his death, family, fans and friends filled the chapel where his funeral service was held. As the service got under way, a crush of punk rockers, many wearing Eyes of Hate t-shirts, packed into the chapel until there was no place left to sit. The spectacle of conservatively dressed family members turning around in their seats to witness the mob of punks filling the room was one I’m sure Al would enjoy.

Eyes of Hate bass player Tommy was the first person to speak at the funeral. He marveled at the band’s progress and his times with Al. One day he met Al at a show and before he knew it they were making music and traveling the country together.

I can’t help but feel a deep sense of regret. Regret I didn’t get to know Al as well, regret we didn’t get to play more shows with him, but most of all regret for what the punk rock world and New York City has lost.

Blackout Matt