When we put out our call for photography for this month’s Bicycle issue, we described the bicycle as a symbol of New Urbanism. It is a part of a self-reliant culture that insists on independence and functionality, one that embraces a city and its often inaccessible ends. The bicycle has been a means for us in New York City to save a precious near-$100 every month in an increasingly unreliant (yet, still, one of the world’s finest) Metro system. It allows us passage between neighborhoods unlinked by train or bus. It unifies places as we rush through, block by block, and witness the changing character of what is around us. Read More
The on-screen realization that something improbable has the potential to exist, such as genetically generated dinosaurs roaming around an island or bioluminescent animals not on a far-away planet but Earth itself is what makes going to the movies an experience that validates our wildest imaginations. Science enthuiasts, get ready, the 2010 Imagine Science Film Festival, is coming back to NYC, opening on October 15th, tempting peoples’ imaginations while accurately portraying the foundation of science in new films.
[Updated: Now with Photos!] Boerum Hill, Brooklyn used to be a Native American maize field. Our urban sprawl has left no evidence of its existence. We joke that New York neighborhoods are in constant flux, but rarely do we examine the extent of the words, “This neighborhood has changed.” Gowanus artist and resident, Christina Kelly, critiqued and challenged this phrase by planting urban corn gardens in Canarsie and Boerum Hill, namely at the intersection of Smith and Bergen. Christina cites that this particular area was cultivated by the Marechkawick Indians, as mentioned in a 1640 land grant to the Dutch citizen Frederick Lubbersen. The gardens are a nod to the historical resilience of New York City living.
La Strada has come a very long way. There was a time where their main gig was on the subway platform, performing to patrons waiting for the G train. The band carries a sound of their own that transcends genres and classifications, creating an anomaly of different sounds and transform it to something only they could create. Each tune is a new surprise waiting to be discovered, and each can easily become a new favorite.
I joked about it. I called it Queens Times Square. Every time I told a new friend where I was living there was a predictable moment of hesitation and a laugh. I had found myself a nice little apartment right near 42nd and Broadway, thankfully free of the harsh light and the awful crowd of its eponymous twin.
Last Sunday marked the first official Big Apple Tweed — New York City’s inaugural tweed bicycle ride. Cyclists from as far as Harlem and Washington DC came together dressed in their tweed-inspired Sunday best. We met in Grand Army Plaza before embarking on our tour of Park Slope and Fort Greene. The ride culminated with a free buffet brunch at the lovely French-Moroccan bistro Kif.
I pored over the maps, with their codes and symbols as prominent as the streets and buildings. Every inch was measured, it seemed, and everything rippled with information referenced and cross-referenced elsewhere. It was August of 2005, and I lived in New York City. For three months from having arrived out of school, this was my life: study the maps, learn the code, stay inside.