Week on a Street Corner

Tags

#amazon, #environment, #Greenpeace, #insurance, #loans, #New York City, #student, #unemployment

Often times, when I am in a city I only stop moving once I’m at my destination. It is never in the middle of the sidewalk. Usually, it’s inside a store front, a guarded park, or a friend’s apartment. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk is like parking on a highway; no one is supposed to live outside of their particular moment in those places. For one week, though, I stopped and watched.

I was actually paid to do this, since I was a canvasser for Greenpeace. Yup, I was one of those annoying people who asks for money and your signature for a plethora of causes. Let me tell you, though, it is one of the hardest jobs I have ever done. Honestly, I think anyone who wants to be an artist should do it for at least one week because it really teaches you how to bounce back from rejection and to never lose the smile on your face: no matter how plastered on it may be, eventually it feels real again.

I’d heard about Greenpeace before I saw the ad on Craigslist and knew that they loved whales and weren’t huge fans of the fashion industry, but other than that I had no idea what I was getting myself into. When I walked into the office off of Sixth Avenue, I was nervous and willing to please, since it was my first job interview in over three weeks.

The building their office was located was one of the tripiest I have come across in NYC so far. The front of the building looks like a typical office building and the lobby confirms this assumption. There are no doors on the first floor. Instead, shiny metals walls lead you to an elevator. Immediately to your left when you walk in, there is a doorway, that leads to a red wooden staircase snaking up through the building.

The first question that Duke asked me during my interview was whether I could handle rejection. “Of course,” I said. “I’m a writer.” We shook hands and agreed that I would come in first thing the next morning to start orientation. Similar to D-Day, everyone around the office referred to Wednesdays as “O-Day” since this was the day new recruits were brought in and taught the ropes of canvassing. Only 20% will make it through the week and still have a job with Greenpeace by the next Wednesday.

Many canvassing jobs pay their employees with a fixed minimum wage and then give them commission for any new member they bring to their particular cause. Greenpeace works differently since they don’t contract canvassing work outside of their organization. Instead, they use a quota system, and fellow O-Dayers and myself were expected to sign at least three people up by the end of the week if we wanted to stay employed.

There are three majors obstacles any street canvasser has to overcome: stopping people, getting them excited about the cause, and finally signing them up with a small contribution. The hardest thing to do is the first- stopping people in the middle of Manhattan. Positioning yourself in the center of the sidewalk, you make your body an island and force the flow of millions of people to pulsate around you.

The first rule of NYC is to make yourself incospicous while walking its streets. You don’t respond to strangers who say hello, you never smile at fellow passengers on the street or subway and never ever make eye contact, in fact it doesn’t matter if its sunny out always wear your sunglasses. Breaking any of these rules pegs you as crazy or as an out of towner. Of course these are the top three rules of canvassing: Hello, smile, eye contact, and repeat until someone stops.

Out of the thousands of people that passed me by during O-Week, one woman in particular stays with me. She was the first person I ever got to stop in the street. She was an unemployed chef and photographer- at least that’s what it says on the business card she gave me. On that first day I’m sad to say that I profiled people. Anyone, with a hemp jacket, long hair, or band shirt I would immediately flag down and tried to stop. I had been trying to wave down a guy with a serious fro, but as he passed me by, ignoring me, Eileen happened to walk by right behind him. What I had been saying was meant for the fro guy, but she thought I was talking to her. She stopped right in front of me, eyes wide open and asked me what I was talking about.

Soon we weren’t just talking about saving the Amazon. She told me about her passion for nature, sustainability, and photography. I was sure that I was going to sign her up during my first hour on the job. By the time I brought the conversation back to Greenpeace, I asked her to become a member. Eileen was more than willing and practically ripped the pen out of my hand to sign up. When we got to the credit card section of the form though, that’s when things turned dark.

She turned to me and asked if she could simply give me twenty dollars in cash. Of course I had to refuse and press her to use a credit card. Since there’s such a high turn over of canvassers, most places only accept credit card information to make sure that none of the money is stolen. Finally, she told me that she was fired from her job three months ago and was having no luck in finding a new one. On top of that her hands were covered with eczema blisters because of stress, she had no health insurance, and whatever cash she had saved, was quickly being drained by her student loans for a degree she earned over fifteen years ago. She was so embarrassed when she told me that I could see tears forming on the edges of her eyes just barely hanging on.

Although, I didn’t know exactly where she was coming from I had just spent the past month unemployed, wondering why I had wasted four years of my life getting a degree that no one seemed to care about. Our culture puts so much worth into what we can materially afford, that when we no longer have the means or opportunity to make money all of our self worth flies out of the window. Standing in front of me was a smart, nice woman who had been discarded by capitalism and was freefalling. Eventually, I watched her disappear down the street, but I made sure to keep her business card safe in my pocket for the rest of that day.

How many people do we know that hide their money issues? For a society and culture that puts so much importance on what we own, very rarely do we actually see the financial situation our friends or acquaintances are in. It’s all about keeping up appearances, and by doing so we isolate ourselves to the point that we think we are the only ones with these issues. I’m sure there are thousands of Eileens out on the street of just New York who have been passed over and thrown to the side for whatever reason. Don’t forget them.

The next day I was back out on the street ready to get my three pledges. I had only two days left and I was trying to stay positive that I’d have this job for more than a week. My last days have melted together and the only person I can still see clearly in my mind is Eileen. I was able to get people to stop and listen to what I had to say, but they never had any money. Many of them would tell me stories about how they were either on their way to a job interview or that they were new to the ranks of the unemployed. The thing is they all looked different. Of course the occasional homeless person would pass me by, but the other unfortunate souls I met looked like my parents, my friends, and my brother. Nothing about them made it apparently obvious that they were all in the same financial boat, they were hidden in plain sight.

Sadly, I never made quota and am once again unemployed, but the memories of that week will stay with me for awhile. For a short period of time I forced myself to talk to people of all classes and races, which for most people does not happen enough. It made me realize how similar we all are and that is more valuable than any paycheck I could have received. 

The Meal that started the rest of my life.

Tags

#food #italy #rome #wine #limoncello #taverna #angelica #cheese #pasta #tuna #culinary #travel

           The week before I arrived in Rome I didn’t even know that I was going. The past six months had been a constant battle with my health ever since I had landed in the hospital because my disease had gone out of remission. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, I have Crohn’s disease. Long story short it means I have a very unique relationship with food and I rarely eat out. Anyway, on August 29^th my doctor gave me the ok that I could leave the country for three months to study abroad in Italy and a week later I was on my way.

            My feet first touched Italian soil late on the night of September 6^th, and although I was ravenous, I was far too tired to venture to a restaurant that night. My dad brought me and my roommate safely to our apartment in Trastevere. He promised me that he would see me the next evening for dinner. My father is a man who is very knowledgeable in only a few subjects, although he’d say otherwise. But, when he is in Rome he knows more than usual, including, as I would learn, food.

            I was apprehensive to eat out the next day, because I was accustomed to eating bland foods like rice and chicken. To eat anything new was to play with fire, literally, and I had lost my adventurous spirit when it came to food. My father led me past St. Peter’s Square and down a small street that seemed to lead nowhere. Clearly, we were venturing to a part of Rome that was not meant for tourists. Within a few minutes, we turned down Via Angelica and my father stopped in front of a large oak door with a small signing hanging off of it that read Taverna Angelica. There was no menu displayed outside and I would not have even noticed the restaurant had my father not shown me.

            He reached forward and opened the door, allowing me to slip into the low light of the restaurant.

            “Breean!” screamed a woman in a strong Italian accent, who I would later learn owned the restaurant. (For some reason no matter where my father goes only the British and Americans seem to pronounce his name correctly. It’s Brian.)

            “Mariella.” They embraced, kissed each other’s cheeks, and then we were led to a small table in the corner of the restaurant. The wall next to us was made of glass and showcased the many white, rosè, and red wines that the restaurant owned.

            Mariella personally brought the menus to our table and after pouring us each a generous glass of red wine, compliments of the restaurant, she left us to decide what we would order. The menu was not long and I couldn’t understand anything I was reading, since it was all in Italian. My dad took over at that point and with his best Italian accent (he had been using Rosseta Stone), he ordered our meal.

            The first thing to arrive at the table was an appetizer of duck, which was drizzled in honey, while the edge of the plate was artistically covered in small pieces of freshly made rye bread. The portions were quite small, which I wasn’t used to since I tend to spend money on quantity, rather than quality. There were only four tiny pieces of duck and I had finished my first course within five minutes and was eagerly awaiting the next.

            As the waiter cleared our plates away, my father leaned over the table. “Slow down on the next course. This should take about three hours.”

            I decided at that moment that I didn’t care if my stomach revolted an hour after the meal, I was going to eat every last crumb that was served to me. This was my first experience of dining being turned into an artistic and emotional experience. After another glass of wine, the second course was delivered to our table.

            The spaghetti had bits of bacon and leeks expertly blended throughout it. As a sauce only olive oil had been used otherwise the tomato sauce would have over powered the rest of the dish. I took time to savor every bite, but I still finished in under twenty minutes. Thank god I had worn a dress because I could feel my waist expanding as each new course was brought to the table.

            Mariella personally delivered the third course which was thinly cut pieces of tuna covered in a pistachio crust and drizzled with an orange sauce. The dish exploded with color, but that was minimal to the taste of the first bite. Normally, I’m not a huge fan of fish, but I left myself in my father’s and Mariella’s hands and believed that they would not lead me astray. The tuna’s crust of pistachio was crunchy at first, but after a few bites, the fish melted into my mouth and only the after taste of oranges was left.

            At this point my father and I needed a breather and sat and talked without eating for thirty minutes. However, Mariella decided that was long enough and brought over a platter of cheese. It included pecorino, parmigiano, and my favorite, gorgonzola. An assortment of honeys and sauces were laid around the table and a basket of fresh, warm bread was set in the center. Eating cheese with honey and jam is something that I had ate before, but Taverna Angelica has its own special honey. It is a mixture of chili peppers and lavender honey. It is both very sweet, very spicy, and simply irresistable. I hardly touched the other sauces, through no fault of their own. The chili honey was just that good.       

            The table was cleared and after two hours of eating my stamina was fading. The waiter took our wine glasses away and replaced them with tiny glass goblets and a chilled bottle of limoncello, which had been made on the premises. He poured us each a small glass and left to retrieve dessert. My father and I clinked glasses and after a sip my dessert sat in front of me. A swirl of coffee mousse and dark, nearly black chocolate sauce greeted my spoon. There was nothing heavy about. It was the perfect ending to a wonderful, eye-opening meal. I’m not sure how much the meal cost since my father picked up the tab, but it was the best meal I have ever tasted.

            When it came time for me to leave Rome, I made sure that my last meal was at Taverna Angelica. The menu changes every week, so that each meal is a unique and a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The service was incredible and I’m sure it wasn’t just because my father was friends with the owner. Italians turn a necessity of life into an art just like everything else in the Eternal City. 

http://www.tavernaangelica.it/ing.html

The Distorted American Dream

Tags

American Dream, Bonnie and Clyde, Criticism, Hitchcock, New Wave American Cinema, Pauline Kael, The Depression, The Sixties, Vietnam

          The story of Bonnie and Clyde has been part of American pop culture since the year of their initial rampage. Even while they were still alive, they achieved a level of myth, which has only grown since their bloody deaths. Hollywood immediately latched onto the story and released several films that either apparently dealt with their story or was based on it, like “You Only Live Once.” Americans ate it up and seemed to be mesmerized by the Bonnie and Clyde formula.

            So why are Americans so taken in by their story? In reality, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow were murderers, thieves, and lovers. Yes, that makes for a sexy story, but why did Pauline Kael deem the 1967 version to be a truly American film? Perhaps it is because in a perverted way the two lovers were able to achieve the American dream. They gained money, fame, and – although they could never know this – immortality. Both were born into impoverished families and came of age during the Depression, like Pauline Kael. Although the youth watching this film during the 1960s couldn’t connect with the childhoods of Bonnie and Clyde, they would have been able to feel camaraderie with the stand they took against a government that didn’t care about them. At this time the U.S. was sending countless young men to their deaths in Vietnam.

            What made the 1967 retelling unique to anything else released during the thirty years following their death is that the film is able to weave several emotions together: anger, comedy, violence, and romance, which made the film feel much more real than older versions. Essentially, it attempts to depict life, rather than simply film as a two-dimension play, like many older films of classic Hollywood. “Bonnie and Clyde” was the beginning of New Wave American Cinema, and many critics and audience members were unsure what to make of it at first. However, this way of portraying stories and characters would remain popular, until the early 1980s with the advent of the blockbuster hit.

            Two of the greatest arguments critics like Bosley Crowther had against the film were that it was a historically inaccurate retelling of the life of Bonnie and Clyde and that it encouraged the hero worship of characters that used violence. Obviously, the first criticism is a factual one. The film takes certain liberties with the characters such as Clyde’s apparent impotence. However, the second complaint is a flimsy one. It is clear that the critics could see that the film was doing something new and were holding it to a much higher level than any gangster or war film before it, which was unfair. For art will always be a distortion of the truth and not even a documentary can truly encompass what it was like to actually live in the moment depicted on the screen.

Far from being a film that worshipped the tragic lovers, it showed how a distorted world pushed violence onto them. At the beginning of the 1960s, peaceful disobedience was common, but, as the decade went on, some turned to violent action to get change like the Weather Underground. Thus, the youth culture would have been able to cheer the characters in the movie, since in many ways they were faced with the same dilemma: go down with a fight or stay silent as the world spiraled out of control.

Pauline Kael was one of the first critics to praise the film and told an anecdote in her review about a woman that sat in front of her. Until halfway through the film, she kept reassuring her friends that the film was a comedy. As she learned though it is impossible to put “Bonnie & Clyde” into just one genre because of the complexity of the story. The film draws the viewer before the violence begins. In this way it’s impossible to not be able to emphasize with the Barrow gang.

 The film confused America because the country as a whole was confused about many issues that were pushed in front of the viewers face. The largest issue however was American involvement in Vietnam. For the first time in American history what was happening on the frontlines of a war was being daily broadcasted on television. Thus, violence was breaking into the American household, and it became harder and harder to romanticize the violence that soldiers had to face. Thus, the idea of bringing realistic violence into something that was meant to help the public escape reality was a new concept.

In this way the film broke down the wall Americans had set up and used to compartmentalize different human emotions during the 1950s. It showed that any real character’s life was both a comedy and drama. The Barrow gang was sure to have had some laughs on its rampage across Texas, so why not show it and make the villains’ humanity apparent to the audience, instead just allowing them to be archetypes. The Barrow gang was gunned down during their youthful prime and is one of the key aspects of the film that resonated with young people during the late 1960s.

            Film was no longer just a place for fluff and entertainment. Before New Wave American cinema, filmmakers had attempted to make films with depth and meaning, but because of censorship it was more difficult to realistically show violence and sex. For example Alfred Hitchcock relied on the device of cutting away just before the audience would see something truly gruesome. He left such scenes to the minds of the audience. Even his famous scene in “Psycho” when Marion Crane is stabbed to death in the shower the audience doesn’t truly see it.

            So, is it actually better to leave violence in the imagination of the audience? Honestly, it depends on the film. In regards to “Bonnie and Clyde” it was necessary. Even the characters question whether the violence was necessary, yet they always rationalized it. In many ways the film mirrored the debate about Vietnam that was going in the country at the time.

            It’s clear that there was something unique about the film, especially because many critics released a second review after Kael’s piece was published. However, only a handful like Bosley Crowther stuck to their guns and continued to dismiss the film.  Many were unsettled after viewing it and only after watching a second time did they realize they had witnessed a new type of filmmaking and storytelling.

            So was Pauline Kael correct with her statement that “Bonnie & Clyde” was a truly American film? Yes, because although the setting of the film took place during The Depression every issue that was brought up was relevant to the time it was made. It questioned the role and necessity of violence in America at a time when that was the hot topic of debate. The fact that the film still feels modern when watching it nearly half a century later proves that the issues it discusses are intimately intertwined into the fabric of American culture and ultimately what the American dream is. 

Cigarette Worries (thanks to my brother)

Tags

#cigarettes #desperation #cancer #coffee #conversation # worries

Smoking alone is an act of desperation. Honestly, there’s nothing better than a cup of coffee (no sugar just milk), good conversation, and a cigarette to suck on whenever there is a lull. Smoking alone takes away all of that. Any urban area, hell any area that people walk around is littered with the filters of long ago smoked cigarettes. Most would view them as trash, garbage, an eyesore in their perfect “drug-free” community, but when I see a discarded nub I see people’s dreams and worries littered throughout the streets. Clearly, they weren’t having the religious experience that I mentioned before of coffee, conversation, and a cigarette. No they were walking, fleeing from whatever terrible black thought was on their mind. The world closing in on them as they walk through the urban decay and the forgotten sections of town, no light to guide them, but the small ember burning between their fingers.