Siding Day 2 + Random

Behold the visual which should have accompanied Monday's posting. My building is the one that looks like it's under construction. Oh yeah, that's because it IS. If you look even closer, you will notice three windows on the second floor. These belong to my apartment. The two on the right are our front room, next to which I have my desk, and from where I broadcast the majority of these postings. The one on the left is -- yes, you got it -- my bedroom! Glorious days. The hardware store was fresh out of head-sized, sound-proofed, styrofoam balls when I stopped by on Monday, so sleeping has not been pleasant past 7:30 or so.

As long as you're inspecting the picture, note the choice of siding on the building to the right. Believe it or not, this quaint-looking finish isn't real wood, but a synthetic immitation, a mockery of what could be. Until 4pm on Monday, this is what covered MY building as well. Whether Stanely (my landlord) or the neighbor did it first, we'll never know, but they're both guilty of aesthetic crimes against humanity: one for having the idea, and the other for thinking it was good enough to repeat.

Like I said on Monday, just about anything would be a considerable improvement. I'm trying to convince Stanley to leave exposed the white, styrofoam insulation and give each of his tenants (me, Adam, Michelle, Nicole) some quality time with a can of spraypaint. Why not? At least it would have a little spice of character.

Don't be fooled by the intensly-backlit, bright, sunny photograph: it may have been a beautiful sunny day, but it still had a chill about it. No, the weekend was much better. I think it hit 70 on Sunday. What a scene, one of the first pleasant Sunday afternoons of the year, in Greenpoint/Williamsburg. I thought hipsters * had about as much an affinity for bright light as cockroaches, but evidently they've mutated; the new strain is much more resistant. A stroll through McCarren Park (pictured to the left) revealed battalions of them lounging around and warming in the afternoon rays.

McCarren is a trip. Don't think I'm bitching about the one slice of green within a quarter mile of my doorstep, 'cause I love it for what it is. It ain't Central Park, but I don't live on 5th Ave. either. Anyway, most of it is occupied by ballfields, volleyball courts, soccer fields (featuring freshly-laid astroturf!), a beautiful track, a dog run, and a defunct swimming facility. All of this is great (except, of course, for the defunct swimming facility, which is fenced in and wasteful and somewhat creepy), and we should be so lucky as to have it so near. I mean, better to have ballfields so the kids don't have sex and shoot each other, right? Problem is, one can't really have a picnic in center field unless your idea of dessert is getting cracked on the head with a softball. Thus, most people who just want to sit on a piece of grass, read a book, work on the tan, or look at girls who are working on tans end up cramming themselves into the narrow slice of green between Bedford Ave. and the sidewalk (easily visible in the picture -- thank you Google Maps!!). On an afternoon like Sunday, it bears a striking resemblance to the tilapia tanks at the Chinatown fish markets. Roll over? Maybe. Turn around? Good luck. Mmm, that cheese plate looks good, don't mind if I do!

After just one walk through the park on that Sunday afternoon, I'm finally recovering from the temporary blindness caused by the glut of white, hipster flesh that hasn't seen daylight in months, years even. Next time I venture out on a pleasant afternoon, I'll remember to wear my welding mask. Also handy if you stumble upon a solar eclipse, they tell me.

Speaking of eye protection, I shall conclude on what is simultaneously a rant and a plea to women everywhere. Please, I beg of you all, PLEASE throw away your bulging, bug-eyed, retired-in-Florida, 3-lb-per-lens sunglasses and promise never to buy another pair until you are retired and living in Florida. It's really getting out of hand. They didn't look good two years ago, and two years haven't changed anything for the better. I saw a girl yesterday whose glasses-area to face-area ratio was very seriously 1:1. Ok, so she had a kind of small face, but not THAT small. Out of hand. I've noticed that more and more women have developed a nasal, congested tone of voice in recent months, and doctors say that the rate of women between the ages of 16 and 35 who complain about sinus troubles has doubled in just one year. Please, do yourself and the rest of us a favor. It's time to move on to the next trend of eyeware: small, circular discs clamped between eyebrow and cheek. The next big thing, and you read it here first.

* Those following the Wiki-link would do well to scroll down past all that horse-piss about hipster being a beat or a jazz thing way back when until you get to the section "Modern Day Hipsters." Actually, fuck it, don't confuse yourself with such temporal discrepancies. Go here instead. Put a little Bright Eyes on for ambience, maybe. Just remember, it was written nearly three years ago, and may be about as relevant as a book on HTML from the same period.