Why My City Is Better Than Your City

Because on Sunday, a polka band (Joe Stanky and the Cadets) played five sets at a street fair a block from my apartment. Granted, the sets were getting shorter as the day went on (The last two may have been about 20 minutes each), but they still played from 2:30 to 9 p.m. with only a few short breaks.

Because that street fair featured food (stuffed cabbage, kielbasa, pierogies, and easily the best potato pancakes I have ever eaten--or likely will ever eat--in my life) made by the Polish ladies of St. Anthony's that was ridiculously good.

Because during the fourth set, when the sun finally started to go down, an old Polish woman practically took it upon herself to start the dance party by grabbing anyone who made eye contact with her (and some who didn't).

Because once that woman achieved success, there was the greatest multicultural polka throwdown I've ever seen, with Polish, Indian, Hispanic, white, and black people all getting on down.

And because during the third set, before the dance party broke out, one guy started his own private dance party, waltzing by himself, mamboing by himself, and, best of all, occasionally closing with Elvis karate moves. Unfortunately, he didn't bust out the Elvis moves when I filmed this (you can see him in the middle of one in the photo above, though), but he still busted some sweet moves (he even throws in some fist pumping). Please enjoy this look into my future. I hope.



I defy you to find a better dancer in your city. Send me the videos.

God bless Jersey City.

Of Geese and Men

A few weeks ago, as I was walking to work, I saw a family of geese--two adults and two tiny goslings--crossing the street in Newport. Unfortunately, this was the one day I didn't have my camera on me. If I hadn't been about 20 minutes from my apartment at the time, and if geese were able to heed the command, "Don't move for 40 minutes," I would have gladly called in to work just so I could get the picture. But I seemed to be the only working drone who felt this way, as everybody else just kept walking, barely even noting the scene placed before them on a clear Friday morning. Meanwhile, I stared and smiled for a little bit and then begrudgingly continued on my way.

Then, on my walk home, I saw the geese again, though not in such a photogenic manner, and decided there was no good reason not to wake up at 6:30 Saturday morning so I could stalk the geese with my camera before I got on the early-morning bus to Woodstock (via Kingston) for Levon Helm's Birthday Ramble. There was, of course, no guarantee they'd still be around, but I figured it was worth a shot.

As soon as I made my way into Prime Goose Territory, I looked to my right and saw what I assumed was the same family of four out for an early-morning stroll. The adults were walking outside of a fenced-in area, keeping an eye on the two babies walking on the other side of the fence. So I gave them some room, stood in the middle of the street, and began the photo shoot.






Satisfied that I had made up for the previous day, I set out for the Hoboken train station. Until I saw some more goslings, even tinier and cuter, and in a more goose-paparazzo-accessible area. Out came the camera again.





Best Saturday morning ever.

But, wait, look, there's another family behind that other fence. There's officially a goose population explosion in Newport.





By the time I was shooting the third family, I finally got one dude to stop and enjoy the moment for a few seconds. It felt like a victory.

Now, whenever I walk to and from work (and carefully wind my way around the many goose droppings), I look for the little tykes to see how they're doing. Some days I'll see one or two around, and other days, the bad ones, I don't see them anywhere. I admit--I get a little worried that they're OK. Granted, they will likely grow up one day to fly into a plane I'm on and send me to a watery grave, but, for now, I'm quite fond of them.

So, last Friday, when I cut through the Modell's parking lot, I could not have been happier to see this:





These are happy, exciting times in Jersey City. At least for me. And the geese seem pretty content. I suppose everybody else will follow along soon enough.

Book Revku, Vol. 23

So many stories
And so much yelling from Coach
Brilliantly captured

The Miracle of St. Anthony: A Season with Coach Bob Hurley and Basketball's Most Improbable Dynasty by Adrian Wojnarowski (390 pp.)

Revku LX

With the trumpet blasts
And the accordion runs
Comes summer's true start

Jimmy Sturr, Liberty State Park. Jersey City, NJ, 7/12/09

Revku LVII

Shattered shot glasses
As the guitars got louder
Cheers, America

Maybe Pete/Dirty Wings/Dan Maxwell and His Band/The Amboys, Automata Chino, Jersey City, NJ, 7/3/09

Hey, Douchebag (Vol. 1)

T&R headquarters recently realized that we don't share nearly enough random, unsolicited opinions on this here blog. So, before we are shut down by the Blog Police due to lack of unnecessary vitriol, we decided to start this "Hey, Douchebag" series. Enjoy. Or don't.

Last Thursday's New York Post featured what, by my calculations, was the bajillionth article about the emergence of Jersey City (or at least the Jersey City waterfront) as a prime real estate market. Almost every article mentions the same condo developments and invariably features a quote from someone whom I immediately want to find and welcome to the city with a hard kick to the nuts. The gentleman who fits that bill in the Post article delivers the following:

"I invariably say I live in New York City. That's when they pry, and they say, 'Where in Manhattan?'...'Well, it's not exactly Manhattan,' I say. 'It's the other side of Manhattan.'"

Hey, douchebag: If you can't bring yourself to tell your pals, "I live in Jersey City," and you're so ashamed to say you live in New Jersey, get out! Immediately. I don't want you in Jersey City. I don't even want you in the state of New Jersey. I will begrudgingly let you live in one of the other 49 states, only out of a sense of fairness I have developed living in this state. So, go infest some other up-and-coming area with your yuppie douchebaggery, buy a condo, contribute absolutely nothing to the surrounding community, then sell your condo for a profit (the only thing your dark, soulless existence thrives on), and start the cycle somewhere else. Surely there is someplace else where you can spend $700,000 on a two-bedroom condo.

Your whole life is based on creepy, real estate-speak like "appreciation in value" and "long-term investment." Later on in the article, you mention how excited you are that your development is eventually going to be "a completely planned neighborhood." Real estate developers can't make a neighborhood, douchebag. Sure, they can build a Starbucks and a Duane Reade and a bank branch, but they can't make a neighborhood. People do that. Ordinary, everyday people who bond over civic pride and a shared sense of the importance of community. Maybe you've heard of them.

So, enjoy your view from "the other side of Manhattan." And say hello to the rest of the douchebags in your development. I hope your investment appreciates real soon so you can go live in the actual Manhattan and stop poisoning Jersey City.