Manhattan Hillbilly

No St. Patrick's Day? Fuhgettaboutit, Hoboken!

 

The city of Hoboken had a problem. Each year, a sizeable part of the crowds attending its annual Hoboken St. Patrick's Day parade was getting rowdier and rowdier. And with the holiday falling on a Saturday this year, the city fathers (of whom many are actually female) decided discretion was the better part of valor -- so they cancelled the entire event. 

Some suggested the death of the parade was an inevitable curse because an Italian-American TV baker was the grand marshall of last year's event, which skews heavily Irish. 

 

But if the city council thought just cancelling the event would end the celebrations, they might want to read up on this little thing called the internet. Because now, to protest the decision, online organizers have created "Lepri-con," a crowdsourced celebration at the city's bars March 17 destined to bring an even larger crowd than in past years.

The city council is still trying to grab the tiger by the tail, trying to change the city laws so bars can't open until at least 11 a.m. that Saturday. Right now, they can open at 6 a.m. in Hoboken, which seems a little late for a bit of the creature and some grits and toast.

A Cold But Colorful Chinatown Parade

Following my discussion last week about ethnic diversity, the Missus and I got to enjoy our first Chinese New Year Parade Sunday in Chinatown. The plan was to meet for dim sum beforehand, but a one-hour-plus wait to be seated meant we settled for bacon and eggs on a roll (a dietary Chappaquiddick, but that's a subject for another day). 

When I was growing up in the hills of Tennessee, you'd be hard-pressed to find enough Chinese Americans to set off a bottle rocket, much less organize a two-hour parade filled with floats, streamers, bands, dozens and dozens of prancing dragons -- in short, everything we got to enjoy Sunday. In fact, without fire trucks, tractors and tow trucks, you'd be hard-pressed in the South to put on a parade at all.

Here's some photos from the celebration. Enjoy, ya'll.

 

 

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

 

 

 

How You Know Christmas Is Over

In New York, the ceremonial end to the Christmas season is the annual "Chucking O' The Tree," a tradition that dates perhaps to the city's founding by the Dutch in the early 17th century. You know that Christmas is over when the first fir tree -- sold just weeks ago at one of the thousands of stand that pop out on the sidewalks faster than rats on garbage day -- hits the sidewalk.

WIthin hours, the sidewalks are littered with hundreds of live, semi-live or brown trees. Some still have tinsel attached. A few have the cheap plastic tree stand still attached and occasionally they even have ornaments still on them. 

Usually by the second week in January, the sanitation department will roll their recycle trucks and cart the trees off for chipping. Last year, a pair of two-foot snowstorms kept the trees on the sidewalks until the end of February. 

Next year I'm thinking of celebrating Christmas under the Greek Orthodox calendar -- on January 6. That way, I'll have plenty of free trees to choose from. 

Back Safe in New York City

I don't ever want to hear my Southern brethren lecture me about crime in New York City.

Just finished a whirlwind 12-day tour of the South, with stops in Richmond, Knoxville, Atlanta and points in-between. The stated goal was to visit kinfolk for the holidays, but the true goal was to put 1,500 miles on the car, get cramps in my gas-pedal foot, confirm my allergy to cats by spending a week living among them, and re-energize my Southern accent, which my wife says is losing it's edge after 14 months of living in Manhattan.

Mission accomplished on all fronts!

Another goal was to raise my cholesterol level a good 50 points by enjoying the food that made me the man and a half I am today. To wit: 

Waffle House. The closest Waffle House to New York is in Elkton, Maryland, just across the border from Delaware on I-95. Don't think I didn't pull off the road as soon as I crossed the Mason-Dixon. 

Krispy Kreme. There's only one shop in all of Yankeeland. It's in Penn Station, and the doughnuts are so stale by the time you get them there's rumors the Rangers come across the street from Madison Square Garden when they run low on pucks.

Ali-Baba's Deli. This is a uniquely Knoxville sandwich shop, run by two Palestinian brothers. It's a landmark in the city after 30 years, and if you don't know what a "Steak in Sack' is, well shame on you.

Barbecue. Doesn't matter whether it's Buddy's or Dreamland or Williamson Brothers. It's all good, and after a year my quest for good BBQ in NYC is still unresolved.

All my kinfolk were fine, and most generous to the Manhattan Hillbilly at Christmastime (maybe it was pity that caused them to be so kind). Everyone looked great, and my family and I even managed to squeeze in a round of our infamous Death Croquet game in the backyard of mamma's house. (Think the Kennedy's and touch football, but played with mallets and hard wooden balls that can all be used as weapons). 

As for safety, the night before we were to leave Knoxville on New Years Eve, we went to a movie and returned to find this:

 

Happy New Year! Someone had tried to break into our car, and after failing to pry their way through to door to the lock, decided to just shatter the driver's side window. Apparently when they unlocked the door it set off the car alarm, which sent them scurrying without taking anything from the car. It took us an extra day to get home since no glass replacement companies were open Jan. 1. 

As I told everyone who came by to feel sorry for us as we waited for the police, I couldn't wait to get back to the streets of New York City, where I felt safe.

It's Christmastime in Brooklyn

Yeah, yeah. You've seen the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. Pretty impressive. But in the middle of Manhattan, I've been missing some good old fashioned, Southern house decorations. So what do you do if you want to see a house dolled up with a million lights and fake Santas stuck headfirst down chimneys with their animatronic legs flailing? 

You go to Brooklyn.

Yeah, there are other places, but it seems the Dyker Heights section is the place where the people go big when they go home and decorate. Some even hire lighting companies that make a secondary business out of "professional holiday decorating."

So without further ado, enjoy:

 

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

 

 

 

SantaCon Is Today!

If you haven't experience a SantaCon, then you haven't lived. Imagine an entire city -- in this case, New York -- invaded by 10,000 revelers in Santa suits, all drinking, partying and having a good time. Imagine bars filled to the brim with jolly red men. Imagine entire subway trains packed with elves, Santas and high-skirted "Mrs. Claus's" all shouting "Ho! Ho! Ho!" in the style of British soccer hooligans.

It's all good clean fun for the most part, and the event even ties in with a canned food drive to do some good. I can't wait. Because of another commitment, I can't participate, but I'm hoping the Santas will invade Central Park like they did last year, so I can watch the show.

 

 

It's Turkey Time In Staten Island

When I made my first visit to Staten Island last month (finally completing my five-borough quintilla) I was shocked to see wildlife. And I'm not talking about Illusions Nightclub.

Turkeys. Lots of wild turkeys. Roaming wild down the streets of Staten Island. In residents' lawns. Infesting the parks in the same way that Canada Geese often do in other cities. I easily counted more than a hundred of them walking around randomly in one greenspace called Ocean Breeze Park.

WTF? (Why The Fowls?)

No one there could tell me with certainly, but apparently at some point some resident brought several turkeys to the area as pets, and with no hunting there or natural predators, their numbers have butterballed.

So, with Thanksgiving coming and the economy down a bit, are a ..., are some residents considering actually bagging one of these babies and having a free Thanksgiving dinner? Apparently so.

Now, don't expect me to be serving my kids free-range Hyland Boulevard turkey next week. A bit to gamy to me. But if your host serves you white meat with tire tracks on it, you've been warned. 

 

Happy St. Patrick's Day from New York City!

It's time for my first St. Patrick's Day Parade here in New York City -- except sadly, I'll be working and having to listen to the music echoing through the canyons of buildings from two blocks away.

No, everybody in the city of New York does not take off for St. Patrick's Day. That's one of the many misunderstandings I had about the event as a former outsider. Here's some others myths and observations: 

• Yes, drinking starts early. A large number of establishments were advertising their St. Patrick's Day Breakfasts starting at 8 a.m. this morning. By "breakfast," they meant alcohol. 
• The parade is one big drunken melee. Wrong. While public intoxication used to be required to watch the parade, Rudy Giuliani cracked down on it (like he did most crime) a decade ago, and now if you're planning to get plastered while wearing the green, you stay inside the pub and don't step out onto the sidewalk. There are more police out today than pigeons, and if you're weaving or making a spectacle of yourself, you're going to be celebrating in Riker's.
• Wearing green is important. My one green shirt is at the cleaners. Guess who looks out of place today?
• Don't wear orange. As a University of Tennessee alum, I often wear my school colors around town. This is not the day to do that. Protestants in Northern Ireland wear orange as a rebuttal to the "wearin' of the green." Wearing orange in NYC today is a sure way to a butt-kicking.
• They wear kilts and play bagpipes. Yes, I know. Both are Scottish, not Irish. But my Irish co-workers swear there's such as thing as "Irish bagpipes," and even go to extreme lengths to explain the difference from Scottish ones. Don't sweat it too much. Just have another beer.
• The Archbishop of New York does stand on the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral. But he doesn't bless everyone in the parade. When the gay and lesbian groups go by, he ducks inside. Apparently one year they mooned him.