Place to Go

The Great Figure
Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
fire truck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city
William Carlos Williams

As William Carlos Williams describes the etiology of his historic poem that gave rise to this wonderful image (click on blog title for link) what struck me not was the beat nature of the poem, the graphic nature of the image, but simply that WCW could leave his place of work for that day, and go to his friends house. From those circumstances arose such a work. From a purposeful wondering, a working, leisurely sociability. Nothing could be more difficult to do today.

In an era where everyone crowded into Manhattan to be in the city, and rents while high were not extraordinary like today, no doubt most of your friends were close at hand. Today this is not the case. People seem to be strewn around the city. There are more people in the suburbs than the city. The majority of workers in Manhattan commute from outside the borough, from outside the city. The artists have been priced out. Perhaps in some areas - SoHo among the very successful and resilient artists who haven't moved for decades, this experience is still possible. In the East Village it would be possible also. Having lived there I can attest to it. A few painters and musicians are around. Various other types who don't work. And a nice park as a gathering point.

But we have changed. The etiquette of stopping by unannounced is discouraged in New York in general. The artists are a much looser community. No one knows everyone anymore, the only people who seem to are the rich club kids. Their productivity beyond hedonism is rather low.

The city then is destroying itself. The economic pressures at work have turned us into workers around the clock, when instead we could be working less hours than ever before to sustain ourselves.

I don't have the answers. At university of course, you have a confluence of leisure time, a wide network of friends, physical proximity, and scheduled meetings. Perhaps I am complaining of not having a life style that I am not willing to do the work to sustain. However, the briefest blush with history says that New York used to be more social, at the level of the block (1960's open door living), and especially among artists.
From these ways of living came an art. Today we have being loosely connected to everyone. Perhaps we can generate a universal, loose art.

Pace

One distinct question is the pace of life. Surely it's accelerating, but how? Is having a wide set of acquaintances one driver? Travel has become more routine. Crossing an ocean is no longer a life threatening risk that takes at best weeks. 60 miles, or rather, an hour in a car, has shrunk from a rare event to a daily. Telephone, text, and online allow us to keep tabs on whomever we wish. And vice versa. Yet is this of any value?

Couple this pace with our current jobs - which are exactly what? Do any of us have a job or task that is either important, directly connected to subsistence or existence? Disenfranchised, overstimulated, with weak attractions. Family as an anachronism. Friends are on Facebook.

One wonders what a detailed study of the change of face to face contact from 1939 to 1969 to 1999 to 2029 will look like. I can imagine or compile from second hand knowledge 39 69 and 99 - for 29 it is simply an extrapolation of today. Times 10.

Vacation Day 1

No wonder everyone likes vacation.



A frenetic pace yes, but at the division of work versus fun. The video here is my brother’s band – that’s Mike Soffa on the pedal steel. Country music. County fair type atmosphere. Crowd of 400. The show put on by Andy’s Automatics was great. The crowd was dancing and hopping!

An uneventful flight left me in Milwaukee. Through the tangle of traffic at Summerfest up to the burger shack in Lake Park. The allure of summer is best trumpeted where the hand of winter holds steady. Never have a seen a more appealing beach than Bradford beach. A long stretch of sand punctuated by volleyball nets. The rolling waves of an inland sea on a gentle day. Stark blue sky.

Past the park one stares at the mansions, rarely overdone, on the bluff over the lake. The appeal is tremendous. The turn inland reminds you that only a select few live on the lake in such style. Squat apartment blocks, zero setbacks, a dearth of tree cover leaving only sunbaked cement and car parks. Then a few more blocks and the empty storefronts, detritus from our economic overreach.

Perhaps my surprise that everyone is not like me, has similar tastes, similar income, and similar desires should diminish with experience. Suffice to say that walking through Sawdust Days, in Oshkosh, I was surprised. Or, that by leaving for 30 years, the greater distance of the class divide is starkly evident.

Just as an aside – could it be that when people complain about boredom they are commenting on the pace of stimulation in their lives? So traveling and meeting 25 people you know by name but see once or twice a year, plus an entirely new visual field – would seem to be a surefire boredom reliever.

Where to Begin?

Returned from vacation. Wisconsin. A perfunctory list here would not suffice. However, long delays upon return due to defective galley door in plane have rendered me listless. Patience will be in order, before the details are posted. Descriptively. In the meantime, recommendation of Arabia by Jonathan Raban.

The Empire State

My license reads: The Empire State.

A building so named: intended to be the world’s tallest.

The history of Venice: A History of an Empire.

The meaning of empire: to whence where wealth is imported.

Perhaps modesty or shame would have intervened in our state’s motto.

If it were named the Empire City building.

The absolutely non-self sustaining aspect of the city.

The strong call to join the Confederacy in the war, in deference to where the wealth was being imported at the time.

All value is labor: Marx. The answer the question: Why import the teeming masses?

New York as the textile center of the New World.

The few if any uses for labor in 2009.

Ten slaves to one citizen: The population of Rome.

Capital as the import of choice.

The self-selecting rich who can afford to purchase Manhattan property.

The Erie Canal was obsolete in 10 years.

Is Albany our new Brasilia? Buffalo our Naples?

The funny thought there is any connection of New York State to New York City. Beyond the suburban tracts silent upon the fertile fields of Long Island? The Hudson Valley.

The writer remarks on the poor agricultural quality of New England. Not called soil where I come from,

The westward movement explained in a time of agriculture.

Fond du Lac Wisconsin founded by a New York Capitalist. Among many towns.

The New York Stock Exchange.

Jew York City. And not in a derogatory way.

The Media Capital of the world. Exporting hegemonic ideas to the world.

The taxi driver who spoke no English. In Amman Jordan. Who nevertheless listened only to American Pop Music.

The world’s largest steel factory. South of 23rd St in Manhattan. c. 1840. With ore from Pennsylvania. Workers from Germany and Ireland. And Africa.

Thinking if we still lived in New Amsterdam. Except perhaps we do.

Brooklyn Naval Yard.

Domino Sugar. To capitalize on the trade from the Caribbean.

A folly: To choose Canada as a spoil of war over the Bahamas to settle the French and Indian War. As the Bahamas accounted for a third of all wealth in North America at that time.

London. Caribbean. New York. London. or Capital. Crop. Labor. Consumption.

Washington DC as the ultimate Empire City.

With a vote in Congress, will the District be forced to change the license from Taxation Without Representation?

Perhaps they can buy Empire City.

Photography: The New Old School?

At a certain moment, what was once special, difficult, and costly becomes mundane. Forgotten. Expected. Remember when long distance meant you stopped whatever you were doing? When a trip in the car was a special day? Photography is now in danger of being swept aside from the popular consciousness.

How can this be, you ask, we are experiencing a profusive explosion of photos everywhere. 15 billion on Facebook alone. Dozens more in each of our phones. Unwary are we also of the literally hundreds of times we will be recorded if we say, go from Grand Central to Times Square to Herald Square on foot.

What becomes ubiquitous falls in value. Just as music now proliferates for many 2, 4, 8? hours a day, it is clear that both our discerning ear and our craft for creation have taken a similarly prolific fall. Few musicians today would ever attempt a Rolling Stones guitar solo, just perhaps as Keith Richards might have barely kept his head above water in the Ellington Orchestra. Now with video and digital snaps, again the ease is taking precedent over craft. You've seen a 1000 photos on Facebook - has a single one arrested you? Can you tell the difference between the Sopranos and Queer Eye? Is one more pleasing to you from a visual standpoint?

No doubt I am overstating the case here. No doubt there are more good shooters than ever before. Yet I stand by my point. Craft and quality have always been at odds in America with volume. Today, volume holds sway. Again.

Would either of these topics be intruiging?
Loss is a 4 letter word.
There is Nothing to Do!

What Is To Be Done?

Whenever the question arises Why did you stop working as an architect? the deepest answer is that I simply, at that time, was too restless to sit in a chair for 10 hours a day. A more active job, one with promise of movement, had allure. I toyed a bit with being a river runner – but between road noise, Red Cross lessons, and sitting (while the world moved by) I moved on. No, I did not expect to land in television. While the job offers very little in mental movement, physically it is quite engaging.

Today, however, no one watches television. The resulting loss of economic status in the industry has sent us from flying first class to coach to not flying at all. Stripped of travel, television production (for my news magazine shows)is now a series of white walled conference rooms, distracted on camera personnel – (no one will deny it is a producer driven arena), and interviewees who end up, after the end of an hour interview, contributing at times 2 sentences. Being present in the interviews, often they are quite interesting and informative. The networks have lost sight of how to present the interest.

A fellow bike messenger in Denver always said “Movement is the democratic universal.” Brilliant of course. But how now does one project oneself in a constructive manner? How does the drive to produce, even if it is only ego, the drive to create, the will to be, and the desire for messianic control – how can this be expressed in today’s world? At the scale of dominance for those of us messianic types?

That’s a serious question. The pace and breadth of the world today is beyond comprehension. The ability of any single individual to influence any aspect of the world beyond your circle of intimates is in doubt. Those that do have wide circles of influence often have wildly thin influence. Think of your B list last week celebrity.

No conclusions here. Addressing the question, stating it, and expanding it to meet the limits necessary for a proper resolution will be our start. Here. Now.

I Am Baaaaaaack

Yes, my blog continues. For you aficionados check out my latest website: http://fredsoffa.com There you will find some videos and a group of currents stills.

I feel the need to brush up and reclaim my writing skills. The blog will be one of my vehicles. Send topical suggestions if you wish. Perhaps I will post written versions of my standup rountines also.

Hope for the best.

My Latest Video

Paris: In Spite of Itself

The Paris that we see, that we walk around in, that charms us so, is the Paris of 1850-1910. The buildings predominantly come from those years, certainly the physical layout of the city itself does. Were Paris to be razed and rebuilt today, odds are a radical change would be made. For the worst, we might decidedly add.

Paris is unique in that it was rather all built, or rebuilt at once. Vestiges of the medieval town are printed on the ground yes, but the typical 6-8 story building comes late in the 19th century. Paris is conspicuous for what it is absent: high rises for a start. There is one, rather out on its own, meant to be a counterpoint for the Eiffel Tower. It is at best mediocre, a blank symbol rather awaiting the wrecking ball. Other clusters of high-rises live in there own districts (Defense) as if quarantined, the majority of the modern, taller buildings, typical 15-20 story mid-rises have been banished to the suburbs.

If this creates the physical Paris that we love, then why am I intoning Paris: In Spite of Itself? This is because the city lives, perhaps unlike Venice or Bruge. Paris is the national seat. All the large corporations retain presences -or so it seemed to me - in central Paris. These organizations now are fighting their physical plant. There is not a large building for them to occupy, or to build. They have to be spread out in multiple locations, crammed into whatever structures they had in the past or anted up to purchase recently. The government buildings are much more spread out that in Washington DC, where they predominate their districts to the exclusions of restaurants and bars. In Paris rather a ministry will have a compound here, the blocks adjacent are typical mixes of housing, services, etc. And that ministry will no doubt have buildings elsewhere, close by, but out the door.

Paris now fights the demands of modern society, of a scope and organizational scale not imagined when Paris was laid in stone. This battle will determine the make-up of the city. For now, the vote is to keep the city as it is. Clearly, were Paris in America it would have been razed by now, and rebuilt with higher density and lower taste. So modern Paris now exists, in spite of its physical plant, in eternal conflict.

Paris Is Closed

Do not try to eat, shop, buy a ticket, or go to a show in Paris. The shop/Opera/ticket window/store/restaurant is closed. Which is annoying. Myself, I so wanted to go the Opera, just to get inside, but there were no performances the week I was there. Not in the other, newer Opera house either. Maybe the Opera doesn’t have a lot of shows, I’m not a veteran, but the schedule seemed pretty sparse. The line to buy a train ticket from CDG to the city was reminiscent of the Post Office in New York on April 14th. Yes there were automated machines, but they only took French issued credit cards. Or coins. My oydessy, my introduction to France, was hiking the half a kilometer back to the terminal and, since the money changing place was closed, pleading with the Tabac shop for change, hiking half kilometer back, using the machine, and then hiking off again to get the train. The sentiment seemed to be Yes we have this beautiful train, in this skylit space, you just can’t get a ticket, and when you do, you can’t be under the light, you have to go into the cave to get a ticket. Now, in NYC, we have Penn Station, a basement of a depot, but we know we made a mistake.
I wanted to buy some nice leggings for my friend Natassa, but the store was closed that week. Stores might open say, 11 to 12:30 and then 2-5. Be ready. The big stores, the multinationals next to the heavily used train terminal, they are open till 7. On the flip side, Parisians know how to do Post Offices. They are everywhere, there are no lines, I was flabbergasted in the best way.

Of course, this is a two edged sword. To work in a shop would be so pleasant. You can go home for lunch. You could run errands after work, except every other place is closed. You can at least enjoy life. Why do French people live longer? Is it the red wine? No, it is the hours. The suspicion is nothing gets done in Paris. Some nice theories and writings, but philosophy is possible only with contemplative opportunities. So take your pick. Civilized work hours, or the commodity market we live in here in NYC. Make no mistake, part of that commodity is our flesh and blood. We are the nascent slaves of the republic, the republic of 7/11, of the disposable, of the big car, of the I gotta have it.

Why does that ticket machine only take French cards? Because they are more advanced than ours, they have a security chip in them.

Paris #3

Paris gardens are amazing. Lush and green, and open. Rarely does one see a fence. This openness, perhaps a virtue of the culture - the land of Foccault and Descartes and the magnet that drew Marx, Stein, and Hemingway, resonates throughout the city. Should you wish to touch the most venerable structures you can. Notre Dame, the Institut de France and many others. Only the Senat (the Palais du Luxembourg) was sealed off, and then, only in the back. Devoid of Jersey dividers on the sidewalks, and garbage trucks in the alleys. We have grow so accustomed to over-scaled cities here in the States, towering monsters, or else the single floor of the provincial village thrust into the metropolis that when we find ourselves in the midst of a properly scaled city, it seems like a toy, like a model, not a real city. Could a real city be this pleasant, this wonderful? Only Greenwich Village can match Paris in scale.

Yet the Jardins of Paris play an integral role in connecting the town. I have seen a 100 pictures of the Louver in architecture books. Stubbornly portrayed from the street side, the photos are tantamount to showing the loading dock of the UN headquarters. The Louvre plays out to the garden around it in its horseshoe enclosure. That Garden opens to the Tuilleries, a long park, .5 kilometers, that fronts the Seine. The Tuileries stretches to the Place de la Concorde which opens to yet another park the size of the Tuilleries which then leads to the axis of the Champs Elysees, ended by the Arc de Triomphe. These parks combine to overlay another scale upon the city. At once shrinking it and overlaying a grand scale, while opening up the city.

The parks, each of them, is magnificent in their own way. The worn wan grass of American parks is nowhere to be seen. The paths are the finest chalky white gravel, reflecting skylight, contrasting the green, and draining water faster than asphalt. The clutches of trees, formally planted in rows, cast a dark spell underneath them, affecting your perception of the rest, lightening the world.

There is more. The police huts in the Jardin du Luxembourg are perfect architectural structures, the best I of any building I saw in Paris.