A New York State of Mind

Things have been hectic here in my cousins' house lately, and unfortunately I haven't had much free time to post. Today is a slow day, so here goes:

NEW YORK

A couple of days ago, my mom, my brother, and I took the 1 hour and 30 minute trek down the NJ turnpike to the great city of New York. My mom and JA, having never taken the bus before, were understandably a little trepidatious, but I was loving it. When I stayed over at my cousin's house last year, I did this trip a lot. I settled in quite comfortably and flipped through my new book "Hanging out with the dream king", a cool little book filled with interviews of a number of Neil Gaiman's collaborators. The book kept me occupied for the duration, but as we approached the Lincoln Tunnel, I put it away to indulge in one of my favorite sights.

As you take the turn from the turnpike, the road arcs in a gentle slope affording the commuters a chance to view the majesty of the Manhattan skyline. Sadly, fog had set in and I was disappointed to find that the familiar view I was longiong for - Chrysler building, Empire State, etc.- was blanketed by a sea of whitish grey.

Then the bus plunged into the darkness of the licoln tunnel and I mentally began preparing myself for the day. We soon reached the end of the tunnel, and our NY experience really began.

As the darkness gave way to the greyish light of the morning, the city exploded into view. Granite walls hugged us, and a current of electricity surged through us (or me anyway). As we turned in to the Port Authority, I knew that I was finally in the NEw York State of mind that everyone keeps singing about.

I won't bore anyone with details of our shopping trip, but I want to talk about one place: Lazzara's Pizza. We found this place completely by accident, but I am glad we did. If you're in NY and you want truly special Italian food, amke your way to LAZZARA'S PIZZA on 38th st. between 7th and 8th avenue. You won't regret it.

While I'm at it, everyone back home in the Phils. should go to the Landmark Foodcourt and try NIELSEN'S, also a truly great italian place which should get more customers.

On Burlington

Today was a special day for two reasons:

1. Milo came home. Milo is this cute, chubby, wrinkly baby who came into this world on April 22, 2005. My cousin just brought him home (my mom, my brother and I are staying over at her house) from the hospital and everybody just fell in love with the little sucker... even though all he does is poop, sleep, and eat. If I knew how to attach pix to this blog you'd all be seeing his wrinkly mug right now.

2. Jakey, Milo's older borhter, had his 4th birthday today. Before Milo came home, Jake transformed the house into a gigantic "teen titans" planet, where he and his noble bodyguard tito gino (aka POWDER-MAN!!!) flew from country to country stealing girlfriends (like Starfire) from boyfriends (like Robin) and throwing those poor suckers into the trash. Yep... that was his greatest birthday wish: to marry 100 girls. Starting young to be a chicker boy, eh?

But, surprisingly, all this activity meant one thing: I actually had more free time to myself than the last couple of days. Since today saw Milo come home and Jakey have a bday, that means that my cousin and her husband got to spend the whole day with their two kids. They're upstairs right now, watching the incredibles and breastfeeding.

Therefore, my mom, brother, and I decided to go out for a walk on this cold and windy day. Zipping up against the 48 degree (fahrenheit) weather, we stepped out into the ancient streets of the historic town of Burlington, New Jersey.

Burlington is somewhat a charming place. I mentioned in the previous post that parts of the neighborhood are rather unsavory. And for the most part, that's true. There are sections of the town, stereotypically enough on the "other side of the track", which are downright nasty. As Tim, my cousin in law, says: It's a nice place... if you like smoking crack! Those are the sections we try to avoid as much as possible.

But there is a nice side to Burlington too.

I've only been here a few times, about 3 I think, but in that short period of time I was able to explore one small area quite well. Accross the street from my cousin's house is a section of the town filled with brick sidewalks, cherry trees, an episcopalian church with a cemetery that spans about two blocks, and houses that date back to the 1800's. To use the word "charming" would be an understatement.

Separated from the crack-head area of the town, this victorian section carries and air of simple civility. The people we saw as we walked down the street smiled at us pleasantly, and the air that wafted up from the Delaware was sweet and crisp.The houses, old as they were, were very well preserved. They looked clean and sturdy, all the while maintaining their stately manner. (Stately Manner? Get it? Manor? Stately Wayne Manor? Ahhhhh ferget it.)

For me, this charm and appeal can be encapsulated by one street: Union Street. The Burlington library can be found here, and it is quite a nice little place. Founded in... oh... I dunno... the Jurassic era, the library has more than capably withstood the test of time and pollution. A small squat building, the library belies its outward dwarfishness by housing a reading area that looks like the interior of a medium sized church. Even if they do not have a very large collection of books, the stock that they do carry are varied and actually quite good. In fact, the very first book I blindly picked out from the shelves was precisely one of the book sI came here to the States to buy: The Dark, edited by Ellen Datlow. Serendipity? Sure.

Above the lending area of the library is a treasure trove for book lovers like me. dozens of shelves lined the wall, each of them full to overflowing with books that looked to be about 100 years old. In fact, they probably were. Even though we couldn't even go near them, the presence of these books, these guardians of words irretrievably uttered, fostered within me a feeling of rightness... a feeling of security for the future.

Down the street from the library is this place called UMMMM! It is an appropriate name for an Ice Cream Parlour. A family run business (I think) in existence for 23 years, Ummm is a fantastic little store where some of the best home-made Ice cream can be found. The staff is warm and courteous, and the clientele has been consistently quite friendly. I like it there.

As we walked back to my cousin's house, we left the security of that area and began to be wary once again; guarding our possessions and looking over our shoulders. Reluctantly, I reminded myself that while Burlington is home to the library and Umm, it contains a darker side as well. It is easy to become enchanted with a place- any place- but we must never forget that the world we live in is a deceptive one... but only if we allow it to be.

On Faith

Believe it or not, this is the 5th blog I created. I abandoned the other four for various reasons, but I hope to stick with this one.

Anyway...

I don't normally attend mass, whether it's a sunday or any other holy day of obligation. I just don't see the point in it. But I attended mass today, and I have a pretty good reason for it.

It's my mom's birthday, and she really wanted to go to a catholic mass. The thing is, we're in New Jersey right now and the nearest church is an episcopalian one. There is a Catholic church, but my mom, who isn't exactly Wonder Woman, would have to walk through 15 minutes worth of... not too savory neighborhood. Alone. Suffice it to say, that's a good enough reason for me to get off my lazy ass and walk her there.

Resentful as I was, it was sitting in the pews that gave me an idea for what to post first in my new blog. So when I got back home, I sat down and typed up a little essay on the what I think of the nature of faith. If you get offended, well, sorry but that's tough.

What is it about faith?

For their faith, millions of people end up doing things that they probably would not even consider otherwise. Pick a church, any church, and go there on a Sunday. In this country at least, chances are that you would find it filled to capacity with people of all demographics.

Now one would be tempted to conclude that this is a good thing. After all, once you enter through those large wooden double doors and take a good look around, you see a gathering of people that could almost represent a sense of community. You’ve got the high school nerds sitting beside the cheerleaders, the jocks making peace signs with household helpers, and you’ve got bosses holding hands with their employees while singing the Our Father. Presiding over everyone is the kindly old priest, he of the soft white hair and the fatherly twinkle in his eye. All in all, it paints quite the happy picture; the gently shepherd tending to his loyal flock as he guides them through the plains and valleys of life.

But as he intones his blessings and convinces everyone to eat of his body and drink of his blood, an odd thought can niggle at the back of any rational person’s mind, if he chooses to use it. And once he does, there comes the realization. What makes up the flock of a shepherd? Sheep… Sheep who are content to let go of their autonomy and individuality; content to simply sit back and let one person make all their decisions; content to disregard the fact that their god created them with a mind designed to be used.

Are they, the churchgoers, wrong in what they are doing? Are they wrong in surrendering their rationality, albeit for a single hour or so, to a theological concept that is untenable at best? Maybe… maybe not. Anyone who knows me knows that I abhor doing something just for the sake of doing something. If I am to be forced to do something, I must know that it furthers my existence; Otherwise I lose an hour of my life to something I do not believe in.

There are many people who attend church just for the sake of it. All it takes is another sweeping glance around at the people clumped together, ass to ass, on those hard wooden pews. You will find the odd face overcome by an almost manic joy at being in the presence of his lord, but that is quite rare. From my own experience, one is more likely to see anything from old men picking their noses, young ladies self consciously examining their fingernails for blemishes, and young men desperately ogling those same girls. Frankly, I find people like that repulsive, for it is these people who are truly wasting their lives. An hour every Sunday devoted to something that is worthless is a waste by anyone’s standards. Anything that doesn’t enrich your life is a waste. And, sadly, these people are either too lazy or too stupid to think of it that way.

But what of those few people for whom it IS real? What of those people who believe that the hard pews, painful kneeling, and awful sing are truly worth their time? What of those people who truly believe that the piece of wheat held in the priest’s all too mortal hand is actually the lord’s edible flesh?

Well, for them I have more respect. Personally I think they are deluded and often want to shoot them, but I cannot fault them for their faith. You see, we all need to know we have meaning in our life. Some people find meaning in their work or their money, others in the love that they share with someone, and still others believe that meaning lies in their accomplishments. Well, I understand that some people find their sense of meaning in believing that they serve some higher power, and that he has granted them free will so that they may live to do his work. Okay, when it’s put that way I STILL want to shoot them and tell them to shape up, but if they want to believe it then that’s their problem.

Or maybe it’s not a problem.

Faith is a powerful thing. Not just faith in god, but faith in general. When you ask the Red Sox players how they beat the Yankees, they will answer the same thing: Faith. When you ask Stephen King how he completed an entire novel lying on the brink of death, there’s that word again: Faith. How did the allies win World War 2? Faith.

Faith in itself is useless without action. One can dream and dream until the Sandman runs out of sand, but if they do not act they have nothing. But faith, a true and powerful faith, can give one the chance to find his strength, shape it, and then unleash it. This is what the Red Sox did; what King did, and what the allies thankfully did.

On the strength of this, I really cannot disparage the true believers too much. Do I agree with them about their doctrines? No, and I probably never will again. But I believe in their belief, and all props to them.

And this is why a false faith is truly dangerous. If your faith, be it in god or yourself, is insufficient or inadequate in any way, you are in serious danger of deluding yourself that what you do is making a difference. You spend time filling your self with nothingness. The safeguards and defenses that faith is meant to build will be missing, leaving you open and vulnerable to all sorts of dangers.

And that is when the devils come in.