Daryl's Home Page
Journal Archive - July 2003

Journal | Thursday, July 31, 2003 | #
Ring of terror

What could be more marvelous than ice cream in the summer, right? Except, of course, when someone uses ice cream as a license to terrorize the neighborhood. I'm talking, of course, about ice cream trucks. All hours of the day, they weave through the street grid of Brooklyn, where they block traffic, spew exhaust, and blare xylophone music at full volume.

Two or three times an evening, an ice cream truck parks outside my window. They usually sits there for 15 minutes as children line up for soft-serve, fudgesicles, and chocolate eclairs. The whole while, they play that terrible song, over and over, like a form of psychological torture. The ice cream truck's capacity to stir pent-up rage is rivaled only by the car alarm.

Maybe I'm being too cold toward the ice cream trucks. When I was 10 or 12, I probably would have been delighted to hear the chimes of a Mister Softee truck cruising on our block. We lived in a neighborhood with few children, and the ice cream trucks almost never ventured onto our street. There's something to be said for living in a peaceful community with lots of kids who love ice cream. I just wish they could enjoy it without playing that terrible tune.

- Daryl

Journal | Wednesday, July 30, 2003 | #
Blister in the sun

I'm tempted to violate my don't-write-about-work rule to describe our company picnic on the farm upstate yesterday. Nah. But there's a chance you might see me in an upcoming TV episode in a log-sawing demo. Now I have blisters on my hands from the saw....

I'm fascinated by the practice of pre-writing obituaries. Turns out The New York Times reporter who wrote the Bob Hope obit has been dead himself since 2000!...

Cool web site: I could spend hours at ePodunk, a web database of facts about towns and cities in the U.S. The site says, "There's no such thing as a small, unimportant town."

- Daryl

Journal | Tuesday, July 29, 2003 | #
Go where the "in" crowd goes

Have you heard about the Mob Project? A secret group organizes "flash mobs" at random spots in New York City, where scores of people mill around, follow some silly instructions, and then disperse after a few minutes. Like so many things in New York, the fun seems to come from just being in the know. People find out about the mob project via e-mail forwards and web site message boards (Hint: They're sometimes posted on Gawker.) I haven't been part of a mob, and I probably won't, but I'm intrigued....

I saw a George W. Bush doll for sale in a toy store recently. It has two buttons on it. One of them says "Funny," and the other says "Inspirational." The doll speaks various actual George Bush quotes based on which button you press. Brilliant!...

Worst song on the radio right now: "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me....

On my brother's home page today, Gerritt takes on a phony honor society.

- Daryl

Vermont highway picture

Journal | Monday, July 28, 2003 | #
The full Vermonty

In search of clean air and peaceful country scenery, Christel and I drove to her home turf in Woodstock, Vermont, this weekend. We swam, camped, saw Christel's mom, did a lot of driving, visited Robert Frost, and took in the Vermont experience. It was a weekend of strange coincidences, and here are three of them.

1) On our drive into Woodstock, I got a sense of déjà vu. "I've been here," I announced. But when? Then I remembered I drove there two years ago when I was living in New Hampshire and took a day to explore Quechee Gorge in Vermont. I had forgotten all about it.

2) A CD we've been listening to lately, "Welcome Interstate Managers" from Fountains of Wayne, was packed with weirdly appropriate lyrics. One song is about sitting in traffic on the Tappan Zee bridge. Another says, "Sometimes I think I might just move up to Vermont / open a bookstore or a vegan restaurant." Even more uncanny was that on the drive up in separate cars, Christel and I somehow both scanned our radios to the same radio station, which was doing a Friday-night countdown show. The No. 1 song, as we both noted later, was "Stacey's Mom" by Fountains of Wayne.

3) My car battery died on the way home Sunday, so we got a jump start and limped to Sears in Rutland. In the parking lot, the car coasted directly to the front of the store and quite suddenly shuddered and died. Perplexed, we put the hood up right there and went into the store for a battery. (We also had the Sears guy check the alternator, which was A-OK. The car gave us no more trouble.)

3b) Playing the state fair in Rutland next month: Darryl Worley.

- Daryl

Journal | Friday, July 25, 2003 | #
What's up, dock?

There are very few advantages to working on the far west side of Manhattan, three-and-a-half long blocks from the C line. One perk is getting to eat my lunch at Chelsea Piers overlooking the Hudson River on a nice day. Another is the Frying Pan. Follow West 25th Street until it ends and you'll find it, floating on the river. Frying Pan is an outdoor pier/bar with reasonably priced drinks and interesting people. Docked at the pier is an old ship, and you can board it and sit on deck. We were there last night after work to bid farewell to one of our coworkers who's moving to another department. I'm always amazed when the boss pulls out the company AmEx card and buys all the drinks for everyone. Compare that to one of the newspapers I worked at, which was so cheap that I once had to buy a light bulb myself when the one over my desk burned out. Here, my company is paying for me to sit outside with my friends and watch the sun set over New Jersey. Outrageous.

I'll be in Vermont this weekend, so there will be no journal on Saturday or Sunday. The next update will be Monday morning.

- Daryl

Journal | Thursday, July 24, 2003 | #
Odds and ends

Here's another famous Daryl for my list: Darrell Issa. He's the former car alarm salesman who's trying to unseat Gov. Gray Davis if California goes ahead with the recall vote. As much as I want to cheer for a Darrell, I can sum up the reasons he shouldn't be governor in three words: Car. Alarm. Salesman. ...

Speaking of state politics, here's a great Onion story about Maryland, a very difficult state to make fun of. (Much harder than, say, Pennsylvania). ...

I have a dentist appointment this morning, which means I did an extra-good job of brushing and flossing my teeth beforehand. Isn't it silly how that works? Aren't I going to the dentist to get my teeth cleaned? Am I really that afraid of being scolded by the dentist? It at least feels good to have clean teeth.

- Daryl

Journal | Wednesday, July 23, 2003 | #
From Mark to Kelly

Mark Parfitt breezed into New York yesterday for his annual Weekly CD release party. For those of you who don't know Mark, here's the short version: Mark and Kelly R (mostly Mark, though) make a mix CD every year to give to a bunch of their friends, complete with extensive liner notes about the year gone by. Tracks include the latest pop and country jams, Mark's voice mail messages, Sheetz commercials, and TV clips, all expertly ripped, mixed, and burned on 2 CDs. Mark gives some generous shouts-out to this home page in the booklet.

The release party was at Trailer Park, an Elvis-kitch-themed Chelsea bar, and included a crowd of good folks. I was happy to see Mark and Kelly, Sister Beth, Amy and her Mark, David Joe a.k.a. David Heasty, Carolyn and Betsey from my office, Jaime Desmond, plus some new names and faces.

The release of the annual CD also marks a year since I ran into Kelly in Delaware and she told me about a job opening at her company — a job I now have. As we were leaving the bar last night, Kelly saw another random friend of hers and they chatted for a few minutes. Kelly told us later that he's looking for work as a copy editor. She let him know we have an opening. Another year, another connection.

- Daryl

Journal | Tuesday, July 22, 2003 | #
It's free for you and cheap for them

Just dial down the center! Let's face it, those collect call commercials with Carrot Top are about as enjoyable as pushing thumbtacks into your eyes. Saturday Night Live recently ran a comedy sketch about two duck hunters gunning Carrot Top down (after they dispatch the AFLAC duck). It's too easy to just complain about Carrot Top, though. It takes a strong stomach to ask the tough questions:

(A) Why is this man famous?

(B) Why has that phone company kept him on board as its pitchman for so many years?

As for question A, this is America and anybody can be famous for any reason. Question B is more complex, because it leads us to another question: Who makes collect calls anymore? Hmm... Kids at summer camp... Poor people without long distance service... Prisoners... People with bad manners.... Are any of these groups audiences that identify with Carrot Top? Does he have a lock on the incarcerated demographic? Somehow I doubt it. But here's my theory. See, sometimes good advertising is about repetition. And Carrot Top is a secure spokesperson because he's so universally despised that he probably doesn't have any other career options in sight. Thus, the phone company can rely on him to repeat the same slogan in his same nasal voice for many years. And, while we fantasize gleefully about blasting him with duck shot, we remember to dial down the center. You win this time, Carrot.

(More about this ad campaign.)

- Daryl

Journal | Monday, July 21, 2003 | #
Private eyes are watching you

Can you tell when you're being watched? I was walking home the other night and felt for sure someone was watching me. I turned my head to the left and looked up, and sure enough, one of our local old-timers was perched at her windowsill, watching me go by on the street. Perhaps this was just coincidence, or I could have noticed her in my peripheral vision. I've heard about scientific studies to see if people can really sense when they're being watched (an experiment so simple that anybody with a few friends could do it). Of course, according to science, we can't detect when people are looking at us. I suppose, though, that our senses are constantly working in ways which we aren't necessarily aware, and detect small movements and sounds to alert us when people are nearby.

- Daryl

Journal | Sunday, July 20, 2003 | #
If they don't win it's a shame

I got a call at about 3 yesterday afternoon. It was my friend Jason, who was visiting New York from Philadelphia. "Want to go to a Yankees game?" he asked. He had free tickets from a friend of a friend or something. Sure, I said, what time? "Four." And so off we went to the Bronx, my first trip to Yankee Stadium. We had good seats in the "loge" section along the third base line. The Yankees were behind by two when we arrived, but they ended up beating Cleveland 7 to 4. After the Yankees won, the stadium played "New York, New York" on the PA, and thousands of drunk men in tank tops warbled the words in unison as they walked down the ramp on the way to the subway. The sound echoed all the way around the stadium — quite a thing to hear.

Tip: If you go to a Yankees game, do not try to bring a backpack into the stadium. The guards will make you walk across the street to a bowling alley and lock it up in a locker.

- Daryl

Journal | Saturday, July 19, 2003 | #
Please place the item in the bag

I know a great place if you like to steal groceries. It's the Pathmark supermarket in Brooklyn, the one tucked between the elevated F train, the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and the fetid Gowanus Canal. This is the part of town where the city parks its garbage trucks at night. Brightly lit, well-stocked and with a full parking lot, the Pathmark is the only thing nearby that resembles a suburban grocery store. They have the lowest prices around on orange juice and cat litter.

There was a time when the Pathmark people would make sale announcements over the PA, ending with the enthusiastic, wry comment, "Thank you for shopping at the house of Gowanus!" I liked that. Sadly, this store has spiraled downward into borderline anarchy, especially at night when I shop there. I seldom see anyone in this store who appears to be an actual Pathmark employee. Usually, if there are any around, they are at the front, desperately trying to manage one lonely open checkout lane. Since the wait for this lane is sometimes six or seven carts deep, most shoppers gravitate toward the disastrous self-checkout lanes. The signs say "15 items or less," but in this lawless supermarket, no such rules are enforced.

I don't steal groceries, but I'm sure people must walk out of this store with all kinds of stuff. (The shopping carts are actually armed with system that locks the wheels if anybody tries to push them out of the parking lot.) Since the shelves are always stocked, I'm guessing this store must have some kind of management. But often, it seems like a ship without a captain, slowly sinking into the canal.

- Daryl

Journal | Friday, July 18, 2003 | #
Spend it like Beckham

The first time I heard the word "metrosexual" a few months ago, I had to ask what it meant. "Please tell me it doesn't have anything to do with buses or subways," I said. It doesn't. This new word, used as either a noun or an adjective, basically describes a category of ambiguously straight guys who spend a lot of money on fashion and beauty care products. (See: David Beckham.) At least, that's what I gathered from reading the Sunday New York Times story last month. Thanks in large part to that story, this word has entered our lexicon, both as a marketing demographic and as an explanation for why it's getting harder to tell who's gay and who's straight. I say it's silly to label people with this word. And so, "metrosexual" has been added to the list of Words Banned from Daryl's Home Page. (Other words on the list include "hipster," "postmodern," and "schadenfreude.") ...

A few months ago I wrote a journal about the magical stretch of the F train that runs above ground in Brooklyn. Yesterday, Slate ran an article that shows what happens when a real writer takes a stab at the same subject, and sexes it up a bit. His description of the Williamsburgh Bank Building is spot-on, even if his spelling of it isn't.

- Daryl

Journal | Thursday, July 17, 2003 | #
Way too much meat

We sat next to Bon Jovi and J-Lo at the Carnegie Deli yesterday. Okay, so we were next to their photos, and those of many other celebs who have dined at this well-known New York eatery. And when you're at a famous place, some irrational urge says it's okay and sensible to spend $20 for a reuben sandwich. I couldn't understand why it was so expensive. It simply must be the best sandwich ever, right? By the time our order arrived, I was really jonsin' for a reuben. Alas! Not a sandwich at all, it was just a giant heap of warm, oily corned beef piled onto a plate, capped with a scant amount of sauerkraut and some Swiss melted on top. Beneath this pile were two untoasted pieces of rye bread, slowly smothering to death. Some Russian dressing sat on the side. Sure, the corned beef was good, but this reuben was not my American Idol. I shoveled beef into my mouth with a fork until I couldn't take it any more.

Of course, visiting with my friend Tiffany made up for this disappointing sandwich. She brought Sterling some cat food which she gets at a deep discount from her company. With her gift of two bags of cat food, I saved about $18, which makes up for the reuben.

- Daryl

Journal | Wednesday, July 16, 2003 | #
Some overthinking for a Wednesday

One good way to make yourself miserable is to constantly compare yourself to other people. No matter how smart/cute/awesome/fun you think you are, there's always someone who seems better off. Especially in New York. You don't have to look far here to find a person who started out the same way you did, but who now has a better career, earns more money, has more sex, travels to more places, knows better friends, does more crazy stuff, or just generally lives a richer life than you do. That can be tough.

Many, many of my friends get this gotta-be-successful pressure from their parents. My parents have always been gentle about this, but I put competitive pressure on myself. When I think about sad times I've had, they've often been when I feel like I'm not living my life fully enough. Then there have been times when I'll prop myself up by comparing my life to some sorry, pathetic soul (and I met plenty of them in central Pennsylvania) and saying, "At least I'm not that guy." That's not healthy, either.

Lately, I've been realizing that the best standard I have to live up to is my own. And I'm more interested in being happy than I am with earning big money or having a thousand friends. I wish I could take a snapshot of myself now and mail it back in time to the Daryl of five or six years ago. "What am I doing in New York City?" he'd ask. "I'm doing what? I live where?" And then he'd say, "Nice haircut, dork!" But I think he'd be pleased.

- Daryl

Journal | Tuesday, July 15, 2003 | #
Weather geek stuff

I heard on the radio that tonight, the sunset will be aligned exactly with the street grid in Manhattan. The street grid is tilted 29.5 degrees from north, and the sun happens to be setting at 29.5 degrees from the east-west line. This means that you'll be able to see the sun set directly in line with the numbered east-west cross streets. Sunset is 8:25 p.m. ...

Claudette is slogging toward Texas. So, the next storm to form in the Atlantic Ocean this season will get a D name: Danny. But as usual, there are no storms named Daryl on the schedule. The other D names in the cue for upcoming years are Danielle, Dennis, Debby, Dean, and Dolly. I think it would be cool to have a storm that shares my name, simply for the headlines: "Texans brace for Daryl's landfall" or "Daryl decimates south Florida." (Check here to see if your name is on the list.)

- Daryl

Journal | Monday, July 14, 2003 | #
Sunday in the park

I woke up yesterday hungover, mad at myself for drinking too much at a party the night before, and confused about my place in the universe. As I lay in bed trying to plan my day, and I decided the first thing I would do was sleep for three more hours.

By noon, I felt better. The sun beamed in my windows and a soft summer breeze rustled the curtains. I showered, dressed, and ate something. Then I got out my beach bag and stuffed it with a towel, some sunscreen, a big bottle of water, and a book. I walked to the park, where I spent all afternoon reading on Long Meadow, as I listened to the wind in the trees and the sounds of many fellow Brooklynites hanging out in the sun.

By late afternoon, I had accomplished something I'd been wanting to do for a while. I am no longer one of the last literate people in the Western hemisphere who hasn't read "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone." Now I need to read the next four books to catch up with the rest of you.

- Daryl

Journal | Sunday, July 13, 2003 | #
Grate, grind, shred, blend ,liquefy, frappe

It's smoothie season. You can go into a juice bar and spend $5 for a fruit shake, or more if you want weird soy or vitamin powders mixed in. Or you can invest in a blender, and make your own using overripe fruit from your kitchen. You can probably guess which option I prefer. Here's my recipe:

Five big ripe strawberries
One banana (frozen or fresh), peeled
Five or six big ice cubes
A mix of apple and orange juice, about 1/2 cup total
A teaspoon or two of honey

Blend until smooth. Serve in a tall glass with a straw. A toast to summertime.

- Daryl

Journal | Saturday, July 12, 2003 | #
The American Museum of Museum Exhibits

The American Museum of Natural History is wicked cool. It's a showcase of dino bones, the great blue whale, the Big Bang (as narrated by Maya Angelou), and a whole kingdom of other exhibits about the amazing world in which we live. And if you don't care about all that, it is a fine place to learn the history of museum exhibits. See, some parts of the museum are sparkling, interactive and brand new. Other dusty exhibits look like they haven't been touched since the 1950s.

For instance, check out the hall of New York State displays. On one wall, it has several painted-cardboard dioramas depicting an orchard in Dutchess County. Elsewhere, you can see pictures of a coal mine. One large display is entirely devoted to shale. Zzzz.

The cutting edge of museum design, however, has to be the visiting temporary installation about chocolate. This exhibit itself is interesting, though not remarkable. What's significant is the layout. After you've walked through the installation — and have chocolate on the brain, as we did — you're directed into a gift shop stocked with pricey chocolates from around the world. Shameless? Surely. But times are tough, and who can blame the museum for trying to rake in a few extra bucks selling candy to tourists?

- Daryl

Journal | Friday, July 11, 2003 | #
Bring on the sausage jokes

Okay, here's my nomination for most compelling headline of the year so far: "Pirate fined for assaulting sausage." (This replaces my previous favorite, which ran in the New York Post last month: "Riot mars 5th grade graduation.") ...

A man recently awoke from a coma he had been in for 19 years. Let's pretend you've been unconscious since 1984 and you've just waken. What's the first thing you'd want to be told about? The terrorist attacks? The Internet? Cell phones? Who the president is and how he got there? The end of the Cold War? AIDS? The past 19 Super Bowl winners? What in God's name happened to Michael Jackson? ...

- Daryl

Journal | Thursday, July 10, 2003 | #
Have you forgotten?!

I've written before about the number of e-mails I get from people who think I'm Darryl Worley, the country singer. See, I wrote about Mr. Worley's music in an old journal some time ago, and so my home page comes up in the top 20 on Google when people search for his name and spell it wrong. Anyhow, here's an e-mail I got yesterday. As Dave Barry would say, I swear I am not making this up:

Daryl, This is [name omitted] back in your home town. Your friend. Daryl, I need 8- 8x10's photo's signed by you for my friends up north. I'd like to take them north when i go on vacation. On mine i want signed to [name omitted] with love. I miss rubbing your hinny. lol.... Here's my address..... [address omitted] Savannah, Tennessee 38372 Thank you, Love [name omitted] r.s.v.p.

I can't decide the best way to respond to this message. If you have a suggestion, please e-mail me. If I like your suggestion best I'll let you rub my hinny.

- Daryl

Journal | Wednesday, July 9, 2003 | #
Present tense, first person

On the way home, I stop at Chelsea Market because I need ingredients for a pie for an office breakfast Thursday. I've never been to this market before, and as I walk through it I'm impressed by its odd mix of shops and its whimsical design. Outside, the weather is warm, and I decide to keep walking down to the next subway stop.

I see a familiar face on the sidewalk. It's Japhy! We chat for a few minutes about how things are going, and about his writing on his web site. On another block, half the sidewalk is closed as a film crew prepares for a shoot. I walk past an amazing amount of lighting equipment and I wonder what the heck they're filming here.

Down in the subway, a random woman sees the bag I'm carrying and asks "Rhubarb?" I smile and say, "For a pie." In Brooklyn, I buy and eat a slice of pizza on my walk back home. People have set their garbage out on 7th Avenue for Wednesday pickup, and I spot a perfectly serviceable end table/magazine rack. I carry it home, clean it up, and set it in my living room, where it joins all my other free furniture.

Another note: My brother, Gerritt, has redesigned his web page and added space to start his own journal. Check it out, and feel free to cheer him on.

- Daryl

Journal | Tuesday, July 8, 2003 | #
The wrong side of the law

I've been trying to figure out why Brooklyn doesn't have its own daily newspaper. If Staten Island gets one, why not us? Instead, we have a bunch of free weeklies, including two that cover my neighborhood. The best parts of these papers (and boy do they know it) are the police logs. Here's a sample from the police blotter in this week's Park Slope Courier:

"Two muggers robbed a 51-year-old man by approaching him and saying, 'You know the drill,' officials said. The victim, of course, didn't know what to think until the suspects took his money and ran off."...

Hee hee. This is funny only because the robbers said "You know the drill." As if this poor dude gets mugged all the time! Anybody who watches cop shows on TV knows that you say "You know the drill" when you're robbing a bank. When you're mugging a guy on the street, you're supposed to say: "Okay buddy, reach for your wallet and don't try anything funny." Geez, people, get it right.

- Daryl

Journal | Monday, July 7, 2003 | #
Confeitos mastigávels sabor menta polar

Some of you smoke cigarettes. Some of you drink coffee. I eat Mentos. I always keep a roll of these weird candy/breath mint confections in my desk at work, and if I run out, I'm liable to get cranky. Yesterday afternoon, with the air hot and thick, I was shopping in one of those discount stores down the hill from my apartment and I noticed a box of Mentos at the checkout register. One of the flavors was wrapped in a dark blue wrapper and labeled "Ice Mint," a kind of Freshmaker not commonly sold in the United States. Recognizing it as something strange, I bought a roll for 50 cents. Closer inspection revealed the label to be printed in a language that seems to be Portuguese. These Ice Mint Mentos are really good — blue in color, and flavored a bit like peppermint. One can only guess what travels brought them to Brooklyn, but I'll look for them again.

- Daryl

Journal | Sunday, July 6, 2003 | #
Spell "darjeeling"...

Went to see a fun movie yesterday: "Spellbound," a documentary about a group of kids from around the country on their way to compete in the national spelling bee in Washington. You might think this film would have an appeal limited to writers, editors and other word geeks, but it's actually a great story about family, hard work, and the American dream. Now I'm running this entry through the spell checker to make sure I didn't misspell anything.

Also good: Reed's All Natural Jamaican Style Ginger Ale. Thanks to Christel for introducing me to this stuff.

- Daryl

Journal | Saturday, July 5, 2003 | #
Crash boom bang

Fireworks always start late, which allows time to think about important questions. Such as: If everybody in Manhattan went over to the east side all at once to gape at fireworks, would the island tip and capsize and sink into the harbor? Cautiously, I perched on a Jersey wall on the FDR near 14th, next to the ConEd power plant, which gave me a clear view of the fireworks barges floating in the East River.

There's something unsettling about standing on a highway, especially one closed to traffic. All the things that look so small from a car are suddenly magnified in scale. Lanes 18 feet wide, road signs that loom overhead, bumps and imperfections in the road surface revealed in detail. In the crowd along this closed expressway, New Yorkers from all around the world have gathered to cheer for the fireworks.

When the explosions finally started, people aimed dozens of little digital camera screens at the sky. But as with sunsets and mountains, the power of something so huge will be lost in a photograph. These fireworks are awesome, so awesome we forget they started late.

- Daryl

Journal | Friday, July 4, 2003 | #
Happy Independence Day

We got out of work early yesterday, so I decided to try something new: I rode the ferry home. The New York Water Taxi stops at pier 62 right next to my building, so I walked out there and waited for the boat. It arrived right on time, almost totally empty, save for two passengers and four crew members. For $8 (the cost of four subway rides!) the big yellow catamaran cruised along the west side, made a few stops, and dropped me off at Fulton Ferry Landing in Brooklyn. The whole ride took half an hour, and by the time I got off, I was the only passenger on the boat. What a view from my own private boat! I got a new vantage point of my building, saw sailing ships, fire boats, container ships, and other ferries crowding around the New York waterways. It was an amazing wrap-around view of the New York skyline, plus good panoramas of the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and the Brooklyn Bridge. Despite being expensive, this ferry is a great way to see this beautiful city. If I could ride home this way more often, I would, but the ferry only stops on the west side during the daytime! At rush hour, it just runs between Brooklyn and lower Manhattan.

Another thing. Everybody's forwarding this around: Go to Google, type "weapons of mass destruction" into the search box, and click "I'm feeling lucky." Pretty funny.

- Daryl

Journal | Thursday, July 3, 2003 | #
The sinking of the Redbird

I was at work earlier this week when somebody called me over to the window. "Daryl! Come check this out!" Out on the Hudson, a barge was floating by, stacked with a heap of old New York subway cars. They were the old Redbird cars, which the MTA is scrapping in favor of shiny, modern train cars. To get rid of these obsolete, asbestos-laden trains, they simply load them onto a barge and dump them in the ocean. They call it an "artificial reef." You know, for fish. Uh-huh. We watched solemnly as the barge cruised out to the bay, hauling several dozen subway cars to a watery grave.

Yesterday, the first part of the St. John-St. Matthew-Emanuel Lutheran Church web site went live on the Internet. Please check it out. I'm doing this site for the church I attend in Brooklyn, and I mention it here partly in the hope that the Google spiders will see this link and index it faster.

- Daryl

Journal | Wednesday, July 2, 2003 | #
Round and round we go

Today's journal entry comes from very special guest, my mom, visiting from Maryland. - Daryl

Today was my day for art museums. After a rapid, but relaxing walk through Central Park I discovered the Metropolitian Museum of Art aka...the Met. After paying the admission donation, I began aimlessly wandering the halls and rooms filled with wonderful pieces of art. It only took a few minutes of this wandering for me to conclude that maybe the free "highlights of the Met" tour would be worth my time. For those of you that don't know me well, I should tell you that tours are not my thing...I'm too independent; but in this case my hunch was right. The tour was definitely the thing to do. The group formed under the clock in the great hall and followed the leader like a herd of cattle, but we saw some wonderful pieces and heard (herd) an informed explination on each. After the tour I felt more at home and spent several hours closely observing some of the works that I found most intruging. The Egyptian Temple of Dendur transported visitors to an ancient time in a foreign place. I also saw sculpture, mosaics, photographs, stained glass and of course so many paintings my brain was saturated.

After leaving the Met I sat in the park and enjoyed the lunch that Daryl lovingly made for me before we left his apartment. Thanks, Daryl!!

Lunch consumed, I walked up Fifth Avenue to the Guggenheim. The Guggenhein was originally dedicated to Modernism: nonobjectivity, but many of the paintings in the special exhibits fall very much into the impressionistic genure. The interesting part of the Gug is that Frank Lloyd Wright designed a round structure in a spiral gallery shape. You view the paintings by walking up a gradual slope with the works hanging of the outer wall. It gives the illusion of an endless coridor. Very interesting concept. The paintings were varied and fasinating showing that the art mind has no inhibitions.

Best part of my trip to NY...spending time with Daryl.

- Eileen

Journal | Tuesday, July 1, 2003 | #
We love the Brooklyn Bridge

New design today. I hope you like it.

Did you see the sunset yesterday? It was an amazing orange and pink painting in the sky here in New York. My mom and I were lucky enough to be down by the Fulton Ferry Landing, which has a great view of the Manhattan skyline and a perfect sunset vantage point. We ate dinner at Grimaldi's, which Zagat says is the best pizza in the city. Scrumptious. Then we went for ice cream at the ice cream shop on the ferry landing. My mom is here through Wednesday.

- Daryl

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E-mail daryl@daryllang.com

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