I was walking down Clinton Street on a bright and sunny day. The entire east side of the street was a thick forest and on the west side were ramshackle 2-story wooden storefronts. It was humid, bugs buzzed, and the air smelled of wildflowers. I was happy in the dream until I remembered that I was supposed to get married in an hour and had totally forgotten.
I immediately wondered where I could buy a wedding ring on such short notice. It also had to be cheap, as I only had about $6 on me. I rounded the corner on Delancey and went to that jewelry store on the corner of Norfolk. I asked the guy for the cheapest gold ring and he put it in a paper Cracker Jack type bag, like something you'd get at a carnival. Relieved, I walked back over to Clinton and headed north, feeling everything was now right with the world.
--Goggla
Friday, August 24, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
An Alternate Coney
I have a recurring dream, which I will embellish only a little: It is of an old, but not entirely abandoned, amusement park that once rivaled Coney Island—but apparently never existed. An alternate Coney Island on the other side of the borough, North Brooklyn, near the Navy Yard. They have their own trademark mascot, a competitive cousin of the Steeplechase Imp. They have their own famous hot dog joint, an alternate Nathan’s. An abandoned subway El runs alongside their own famous roller coaster, both casting rusted-iron shadows. The cityscape is sepia-toned. Nothing is gentrified here whatsoever. When I awake, I feel certain this place exists.
Is this amusement park the foiled plan of some visionary—not George Tilyou or Walt Disney—but some would-be conjuror of mass entertainment whose dreams never got off the ground? Are these the ruins of what never was—as if it once had been?
I walk along the rusted perimeter of this archeological ruin. I sense that a few sparsely attended attractions still operate somewhere inside. The roller coasters, shoot-the-ducks midway games and sideshows are closed. The park had an affiliation with the image of comedian Joe E. Brown—the “Generalissimo of Joy,” who was once chairman of National Smile Week. He, too, had a grotesquely overblown smile, like the Steeplechase demon. Brown’s trademark cavernous mouth is on the twin pillars of the park’s main entrance.
I can barely make out faded depictions of Little Lulu, Popeye, Olive Oyle, Betty Boop and Wimpy on fun houses. Faded ads testify there was once a spin-off here of Auster’s Egg Creams, from the Lower East Side, called Egg Cream Land. And for longshoreman or wayward dads at night, there was The Ritz Bros.’ Shayna Tuchas Burlesk.
The park peaked in the 1930s, when Coney was long past its technological prime. It was slightly more modern than Coney, 1930’s state-of-the-art, yet not so futuristic as the 1939 World’s Fair. One concession’s faded logo claimed to have first introduced cotton candy, the first spinning sugar machine. There is a pre-WWII airplane ride for children. Little planes that once rose and fell have lost their original colors; the metal parts have rusted through. Yet, I wonder whether this ride still operates. There’s an abandoned electric-track spook house, with dancing Mr. Bones skeletons on the facade. One advertises a choice of three doors to enter, like the spook house in a Little Rascals short. Its entry doors that burst open are, of course, embossed with the giant mouth of Joe E. Brown.
A creaky hot dog joint around the corner still operates. I head for it. The front entrance swings open like a spring screen door. This joint once competed head-to-head with Nathan’s from the other side of Brooklyn, like the underdog Dodgers against the Yankees. They still serve seltzer bottles and egg creams. I’m one of the only customers present. There are old-timers who swear by it, over Nathan’s. But how do they maintain a license to operate, much less a Board of Health rating?
There appears to have been some kind of bathing pavilion—not Brooklyn by the Sea, like Coney Island, but Brooklyn by the River. The East River. The presence of the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge looms nearby. Tires once swung over barnacled dry docks where kids could leap off and swim. Floats are now obscured in seaweed. Popeye the Sailor’s tattooed anchor forearm is on the Admiral’s Row pavilion. Some kind of longshoreman ethic once ruled. The skeleton of a carnival tent rusts by the pier, where you could once get an illegal tattoo.
Closer to Manhattan, right over the bridge, these were the stomping grounds of incredible hipster Al Dubin, lyricist of “42nd Street,” “Lullaby of Broadway” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” His heart belonged here, not in Coney Island, and his enormous girth was enhanced by the hotdogs and egg creams. After all, this park was just a few subway stops from Tin Pan Alley on 28th Street.
People in this part of Brooklyn today seem barely aware that it exists and are indifferent. The amusement park is just over there, always had been, no one pays any attention. Time marched on without it. But is it possible no one ever sees it, just me?
My dream also begs the question of whether New York City, not to mention Brooklyn, could have handled two great amusement parks simultaneously. Well, why not? They nearly supported three major league baseball teams for 75 years. Palisades thrived for 70 years in New Jersey. Freedomland in the Bronx only lasted four. But just how much had these two parks—Coney and The Joe E. Brown Grounds—undercut each other’s business over the decades, leading to the demise of both?
In popular song, this park was associated with the ditty “I’ll See You My Dreams.” Ukulele Ike performed it there. “Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland” was Coney Island’s most famous song. And by odd coincidence, 50 years later, “I’ll See You in My Dreams” became popular by another, unrelated Joe Brown, the English ukulele player who does fine throwback numbers. Always playing second fiddle, many things were nearly, but not quite the same, as Coney.
--Josh Alan Friedman
Is this amusement park the foiled plan of some visionary—not George Tilyou or Walt Disney—but some would-be conjuror of mass entertainment whose dreams never got off the ground? Are these the ruins of what never was—as if it once had been?
I walk along the rusted perimeter of this archeological ruin. I sense that a few sparsely attended attractions still operate somewhere inside. The roller coasters, shoot-the-ducks midway games and sideshows are closed. The park had an affiliation with the image of comedian Joe E. Brown—the “Generalissimo of Joy,” who was once chairman of National Smile Week. He, too, had a grotesquely overblown smile, like the Steeplechase demon. Brown’s trademark cavernous mouth is on the twin pillars of the park’s main entrance.
I can barely make out faded depictions of Little Lulu, Popeye, Olive Oyle, Betty Boop and Wimpy on fun houses. Faded ads testify there was once a spin-off here of Auster’s Egg Creams, from the Lower East Side, called Egg Cream Land. And for longshoreman or wayward dads at night, there was The Ritz Bros.’ Shayna Tuchas Burlesk.
The park peaked in the 1930s, when Coney was long past its technological prime. It was slightly more modern than Coney, 1930’s state-of-the-art, yet not so futuristic as the 1939 World’s Fair. One concession’s faded logo claimed to have first introduced cotton candy, the first spinning sugar machine. There is a pre-WWII airplane ride for children. Little planes that once rose and fell have lost their original colors; the metal parts have rusted through. Yet, I wonder whether this ride still operates. There’s an abandoned electric-track spook house, with dancing Mr. Bones skeletons on the facade. One advertises a choice of three doors to enter, like the spook house in a Little Rascals short. Its entry doors that burst open are, of course, embossed with the giant mouth of Joe E. Brown.
A creaky hot dog joint around the corner still operates. I head for it. The front entrance swings open like a spring screen door. This joint once competed head-to-head with Nathan’s from the other side of Brooklyn, like the underdog Dodgers against the Yankees. They still serve seltzer bottles and egg creams. I’m one of the only customers present. There are old-timers who swear by it, over Nathan’s. But how do they maintain a license to operate, much less a Board of Health rating?
There appears to have been some kind of bathing pavilion—not Brooklyn by the Sea, like Coney Island, but Brooklyn by the River. The East River. The presence of the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge looms nearby. Tires once swung over barnacled dry docks where kids could leap off and swim. Floats are now obscured in seaweed. Popeye the Sailor’s tattooed anchor forearm is on the Admiral’s Row pavilion. Some kind of longshoreman ethic once ruled. The skeleton of a carnival tent rusts by the pier, where you could once get an illegal tattoo.
Closer to Manhattan, right over the bridge, these were the stomping grounds of incredible hipster Al Dubin, lyricist of “42nd Street,” “Lullaby of Broadway” and “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” His heart belonged here, not in Coney Island, and his enormous girth was enhanced by the hotdogs and egg creams. After all, this park was just a few subway stops from Tin Pan Alley on 28th Street.
People in this part of Brooklyn today seem barely aware that it exists and are indifferent. The amusement park is just over there, always had been, no one pays any attention. Time marched on without it. But is it possible no one ever sees it, just me?
My dream also begs the question of whether New York City, not to mention Brooklyn, could have handled two great amusement parks simultaneously. Well, why not? They nearly supported three major league baseball teams for 75 years. Palisades thrived for 70 years in New Jersey. Freedomland in the Bronx only lasted four. But just how much had these two parks—Coney and The Joe E. Brown Grounds—undercut each other’s business over the decades, leading to the demise of both?
In popular song, this park was associated with the ditty “I’ll See You My Dreams.” Ukulele Ike performed it there. “Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland” was Coney Island’s most famous song. And by odd coincidence, 50 years later, “I’ll See You in My Dreams” became popular by another, unrelated Joe Brown, the English ukulele player who does fine throwback numbers. Always playing second fiddle, many things were nearly, but not quite the same, as Coney.
--Josh Alan Friedman
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Fedora Returned
July 25, 2012
Last night I dreamed that the Fedora restaurant was taken out of the hands of its current owner and given back to the original owner--except, in the dream, the original owner was a man named Alfredo. He had fought for the restaurant in court and won, thanks to an odd rent control law.
While much of the Fedora had been destroyed in its gutting and remodeling, a great deal of it was still intact. Alfredo did his best to bring it back to its pre-gutting glory. The menu became Italian again. Old photos were returned to the walls--mostly autographed headshots of Judy Garland and Barbra Streisand. If it was a gay place before, now it had become a super gay place.
The men's bathroom opened up into a huge space filled with Broadway musical memorabilia. Everything was glittering and wonderful.
I could not believe I was free to enjoy Fedora once again.
--JM
Last night I dreamed that the Fedora restaurant was taken out of the hands of its current owner and given back to the original owner--except, in the dream, the original owner was a man named Alfredo. He had fought for the restaurant in court and won, thanks to an odd rent control law.
While much of the Fedora had been destroyed in its gutting and remodeling, a great deal of it was still intact. Alfredo did his best to bring it back to its pre-gutting glory. The menu became Italian again. Old photos were returned to the walls--mostly autographed headshots of Judy Garland and Barbra Streisand. If it was a gay place before, now it had become a super gay place.
The men's bathroom opened up into a huge space filled with Broadway musical memorabilia. Everything was glittering and wonderful.
I could not believe I was free to enjoy Fedora once again.
--JM
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Ray's in Cement
The morning sun is just starting to rise above Avenue A and the homeless are waking from their drunken stupors in Tompkins Square Park. Beautiful young families, parents around thirty and a baby in a stroller, are walking through the park and I am walking alone, free to admire them.
I start to feel hungry so I wander across Ave. A and walk into Ray's Candy Store for perhaps an egg cream and a beignet. There is no line. Ray hands me an egg cream and the shop starts to go dark. I look out the window and see huge trucks covering the building with cement. Ray yells at the top of his lungs "get down here with me" as he opens up a hatch into a cellar. I hop over the counter and climb down the ladder and turn around at the bottom, seeing a group of 5 or 6 people. About half of the group was Native American and the other half were Dutch, like Peter Minuit and Antonie van Leeuwenhoek. They welcomed and hugged us and said "You didn't think it would last forever, did you?" I suppose they were right.
--Victor B. (age 15)
I start to feel hungry so I wander across Ave. A and walk into Ray's Candy Store for perhaps an egg cream and a beignet. There is no line. Ray hands me an egg cream and the shop starts to go dark. I look out the window and see huge trucks covering the building with cement. Ray yells at the top of his lungs "get down here with me" as he opens up a hatch into a cellar. I hop over the counter and climb down the ladder and turn around at the bottom, seeing a group of 5 or 6 people. About half of the group was Native American and the other half were Dutch, like Peter Minuit and Antonie van Leeuwenhoek. They welcomed and hugged us and said "You didn't think it would last forever, did you?" I suppose they were right.
--Victor B. (age 15)
Friday, June 15, 2012
I Dream of Jeremiah 2
I turned up in the dream of another blogger, C.O. Moed:
We were in a van traveling west on Houston Street. A tall thin, young man with long dreds and a beautiful bandana sat next to me. He wore magenta / deep purple lipstick--the kind I wore in the late seventies. His nails were either green or purple.
I began pointing out different things from the van window as we passed "First Avenue," but in fact it looked more like 2nd or the Bowery. There was all this construction. A tenement building like a chess piece was standing at an angle to the corner, awaiting removal. I pointed to the corner and said, "Oh, and this is my neighborhood and that is a big glass building soon," and perhaps another remark about the destruction of my neighborhood.
The van stopped and metamorphosed into an area by a skating rink. The tall young man went off to get something and I realized THAT was Jeremiah Moss and I didn't need to tell him anything about the neighborhood! He came back and I made my introductions. I was a bit flustered. He was incredibly gracious.
--C.O. Moed (dreamed 4/15/12)
We were in a van traveling west on Houston Street. A tall thin, young man with long dreds and a beautiful bandana sat next to me. He wore magenta / deep purple lipstick--the kind I wore in the late seventies. His nails were either green or purple.
I began pointing out different things from the van window as we passed "First Avenue," but in fact it looked more like 2nd or the Bowery. There was all this construction. A tenement building like a chess piece was standing at an angle to the corner, awaiting removal. I pointed to the corner and said, "Oh, and this is my neighborhood and that is a big glass building soon," and perhaps another remark about the destruction of my neighborhood.
The van stopped and metamorphosed into an area by a skating rink. The tall young man went off to get something and I realized THAT was Jeremiah Moss and I didn't need to tell him anything about the neighborhood! He came back and I made my introductions. I was a bit flustered. He was incredibly gracious.
--C.O. Moed (dreamed 4/15/12)
I Dream of Jeremiah
Goggla had a dream about me. She writes:
You lived in a room in the cellar of NYU. It was full of copiers and you were employed as their master xeroxer. There were no windows. The only natural light came through a skylight, which was really a hole that looked up through dirt at Washington Square Park and NYU buildings. The room was like an abandoned office--pillars here and there, gray carpet, fluorescent lights. It was really crappy and messy with paper all over the place, wires hanging out of the ceiling and a huge amount of dust. I was house-sitting for some reason, so you weren't there. I recall being quite surprised and horrified that you lived (and worked) there. Also, you left a date planner for 2010 on the floor and it had lots of personal info in it, like bank account numbers. I thought you really should be more careful.
--Goggla (dreamed 3/28/12)
You lived in a room in the cellar of NYU. It was full of copiers and you were employed as their master xeroxer. There were no windows. The only natural light came through a skylight, which was really a hole that looked up through dirt at Washington Square Park and NYU buildings. The room was like an abandoned office--pillars here and there, gray carpet, fluorescent lights. It was really crappy and messy with paper all over the place, wires hanging out of the ceiling and a huge amount of dust. I was house-sitting for some reason, so you weren't there. I recall being quite surprised and horrified that you lived (and worked) there. Also, you left a date planner for 2010 on the floor and it had lots of personal info in it, like bank account numbers. I thought you really should be more careful.
--Goggla (dreamed 3/28/12)
Monday, June 4, 2012
50s City
June 4, 2012
Last night I dreamed that I stumbled into a part of New York City that had been preserved in the 1950s. Or maybe I had gone back in time. I wasn't sure. The windows were full of wonderful neon signs and I had my digital camera, taking pictures of everything.
It was Midtown and the office buildings all held book publishing companies. I was overcome with excitement, and could not stop saying, "Once, long ago, New York was full of book publishers! They had power and influence! Everyone wanted to work in their offices!" And I felt terrible grief about the present fact that books have been rejected by the culture in favor of electronic screens.
The dream was decorated with beautiful, Mad Mennish set design.
--JM
Last night I dreamed that I stumbled into a part of New York City that had been preserved in the 1950s. Or maybe I had gone back in time. I wasn't sure. The windows were full of wonderful neon signs and I had my digital camera, taking pictures of everything.
It was Midtown and the office buildings all held book publishing companies. I was overcome with excitement, and could not stop saying, "Once, long ago, New York was full of book publishers! They had power and influence! Everyone wanted to work in their offices!" And I felt terrible grief about the present fact that books have been rejected by the culture in favor of electronic screens.
The dream was decorated with beautiful, Mad Mennish set design.
--JM
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