Walking Is Transportation

WELCOME TO WIT.

WIT isn't about walking and it isn't about transportation.

It used to be about those things, but there was only so much I, then a recently retired editor and business writer, could find to say about them. Or, indeed, about historic preservation or community affairs or the quirkiness of the New York City borough, Staten Island, where I and my wife, Manhattan natives both, have lived most of our lives, mostly in the house pictured above near the docking-place of the Staten Island Ferry, in St. George.

Of the 200-plus posts recorded here since 2007, the bulk were written between that year and 2009, followed by restart attempts in 2009, 2010, 2012 and 2014 --- failures all. So what makes me think this restart, in early December, 2016, won't meet the same fate? I'm prompted to try again by the prospect of living with a national leader lacking any of the traditional qualifications associated with the office he's about to occupy or the duties he's about to assume.

Like many, perhaps most people who do what I've done for a living most of my life, I write to discover what I feel and think. Considering what we're up against, being in touch with what I feel and think doesn't seem like an option; more like a duty.

As it has for much of its history, WIT will appear irregularly. To read newer posts, please click on the title to the right of the word 'Main' at the top of this page; to read older ones, please click on the title to the left. To follow WIT, please click on the 'Subscribe to this blog's feed' link in the column to the left of the center text.

Welcome to WIT.

 

(NOT) BECOMING DIGITAL

I remember well the first time, four or five years ago, when I sat down at a restaurant table with three friends and soon noticed I was the only one whose place setting didn't include a smartphone.

I also noticed what seemed to me like a more animated, expectant, even nervous manner among my tablemates than I was accustomed to.Their eyes in particular were more active, darting in a continuous cycle from face to food to phone, always returning to phone, more a Home to many people these days than anything brick-and-mortar.

Until that fateful meal, I had thought of what I then called cellphones as pretentious gadgets for people with an exaggerated sense of their own importance. What I failed to grasp, then and for a long time after, was that cellphones/smartphones, social media and all the other products and tangible/observable effects of digital technologies are not the real story. The real story is the transformative impact of these technologies, products and effects on individuals, institutions and culture.

THE LURE

But of course the principal transformative impact I was concerned about was the impact on me. Particularly after my wife got an I-Phone and I was able not just to witness but to experience firsthand --- and appreciate! --- the benefits of 24/7 accessibility. With a cellphone, I realized, and even more with a smart one, all kinds of things were possible now that weren't possible before. 

 

I was tempted; no question about it. I could feel myself laying some of the mental foundation for an affirmative decision. I pictured myself on the ferry, sitting back with my device and confronting all those apps, all that connectivity, everything in the immediate now. I imagined how cool it would be to hold up my smartphone so the Starbucks cash register could read it and deduct the appropriate amount from my debit account (I don't have a smartphone OR a debit card).

Still, I had misgivings. My older son Evan's counsel echoed in my head: "Once you get one, Dad, there's no going back." The memory of my first Meal With Smartphones kept resurfacing darkly as well. And then, right on cue, my knee-jerk nonconformism kicked in: Did I really want to join the ranks of those who, at any time and in every place, can be found staring down into the face of some digital device?

THIS FAR AND NO FARTHER

Which gets down to the real issue for me. The total-immersion-ness of smartphones. The idea that with this device, where everything you could possibly want or need is centralized and accessible, you've got it under control. When, in fact, it's got you under control. Or so it seems to me.

That's what I keep coming back to. My discomfort at the total surrender this device requires --- including walking around with a tracking device on your person, 24/7. And something more as well: my real fear of becoming addicted to the device and the withdrawal and isolation that addiction might prompt.

My office desktop and my laptop in the kitchen (which also has a cable TV connection) are already a kind of smartphone, without the phone, I guess; and I'm certainly fully addicted to those. For now, that's enough. This far and no farther. ### 

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THE VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE

__________________________________________________________________________

On the Waterfront

I love Staten Island.

Let me try that again. Only this time, a little louder.

I love Staten Island.

Not all of Staten Island, mind you, and not all the time. But a lot of it, most of the time.

Mine is a straightforward, affectionate kind of love--not particularly deep or profound, not in any way extraordinary.

It's the sort of feeling that people develop for places they become rooted in without meaning to. The sort of love that comes to two people in a long partnership that grows stronger with every test it survives.

And some of it is the licking-wounds kind of love. The kind I feel when I've had more than a bellyful of the sneering derision of the New York Times and other print media toward the place I've called home since 1977.

Now, I'm making my allegiance manifest by changing the backdrop of the photo on WIT's masthead. Here's the change:

TRADING THE BROOKLYN FOR THE BAYONNE

 2006                                           

2009  (Photo by Steve Nutt)

I announced in WIT's April 20 issue that a change was on the way.  Yesterday, roughly a month later, my friend Steve Nutt and I took a replacement photo, one that shows me crossing the Bayonne Bridge instead of the Brooklyn.

Seventy-five years old this year, the Bayonne Bridge is in its own way no less striking than its older and considerably more celebrated predecessor on WIT's former masthead.

I'm delighted to have this updated, closer-to-home image representing WALKING IS TRANSPORTATION and me. Thanks, Steve.

#         #         #

CONFESSION OF A DISLOYALIST • BLOG-MORPH

_______________________________________________________________________________________

Photo by G. Victoria

WHAT NOW?

Another copy of The Nation arrived the other day, to join the collection of unread weeklies piling up in my office--the piles that make me feel disloyal to print and newsprint because I now read mostly online.

But this particular issue, I actually opened. The reason? An article by Alexander Cockburn entitled, "Who Needs Yesterday's Papers?"

I was hoping to find a compelling reason to plunge back into the piles of print media in my office. Failing that, I hoped for some new thinking on what we do for information and news once The New York Times goes bankrupt--or changes so radically, or has to charge so much to survive, that it destroys its own franchise.

NO LOSS? REALLY?

But Cockburn was more interested in advancing a correct but unhelpful observation: that the timid U.S. press is mostly failing in its duty to oppress the comfortable and comfort the oppressed. So its loss is no loss at all. 

He's certainly right about the timidity of the press, which won't be around to keep failing in its duty much longer.

The issue of What Now? has taken on greater urgency since I've finally given up the good fight. The one where I assert, contrary to all the evidence, that I'm actually, finally going to read those newspapers and journals and lefty quarterlies gathering dust on my worktable.

I'm not. And it feels good to admit it. But not that good. I still want to know what we'll do when there's no New York Times to kick around.

*         *         *

Addendum: Most of the periodicals I subscribe to are hanging on but need every subscriber in order to survive. I'm not giving up my subscriptions; I'll just switch to their online editions. That's how I now read the Times, but for how much longer?

#         #         #

Granite catch-basin,
northwest corner,
St. Marks Place and
Victory Boulevard,
Tompkinsville

BLOG-MORPH

I owe Staten Island Advance reporter Tevah Platt a debt of gratitude. Two weeks ago, in a north shore section profile of Walking is Transportation, she observed what I hadn't; namely, that my blog isn't very bloggy. And after sampling a reasonable number of sites using various types of blogging software, I have to agree.

What I seem to be producing here each day is a journal of opinion grounded in a very particular place and time. Maybe 'neighborhood journal' is the most accurate descriptor. But the subject is not St. George per se; it's whatever compels my attention.

--The copy style reflects my training at a newspaper syndicate and a trade book house.

--The layout and text organization--plain and I hope readable--are influenced by the editorial style of print advertising I was trained in at Ogilvy & Mather, where I worked as a copywriter.

--The attempt to create a distinctive and harmonious personality through graphics, visuals and text I learned from my work as a writer on corporate identity and branding assignments.

The result, Walking is Transportation, feels to me like something you'd slap on a brick wall for mass consumption, but only for 24 hours. Tomorrow, that day's issue would get slapped over today's. Like this one.

Nomenclature. I think of my posts not as posts at all, but as issues. And that's the word I'll use when referring to them from now on.

RANT-O-RAMA 3

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DON'T GET ME STARTED

Photo by Mario Tomic

NO ADS, PLUGS or FREEBIES,
BUT LOTS OF OPINIONS

I used to write advertising copy for a living. So I won't shower you with holier-than-thou-isms about how noble I am 'cause I don't run ads on WALKING IS TRANSPORTATION, or plug products, whether the products are arts or armaments.

Here's the story: I'm not looking for supplementary income from this blog. I don't want to scratch anybody's back in order to get the favor returned.

WIT's operating policy boils down to this:

1. No ads. They distract from the principal text and visuals.

2. No plugs, but with a caveat: I have supported not-for-profit or cooperative ventures and events, and I'll continue to. I will even support for-profit efforts that have a strong community base or focus.

3. No freebies. If I receive a book for review and want to keep it, I'll pay for it. Otherwise I'll return it or donate it to the Every Thing Goes Book Café in Tompkinsville.

UNRESTRAINED BY COMMERCIAL BONDS

That policy isn't noble; it's practical. If I don't sell ad space or plug products, then I don't have to stop myself from warning you off a book, a restaurant, an artist or an experience I think is second rate, not worth your money or your time.

But when I encounter something beautiful, or an idea that's worth thinking about, or a book or a movie or a play or a store or even a retail product that I think merits your attention, I won't hold off from telling you about it. And you'll just have to trust that I'm stating my opinion, not earning my income or returning a favor.

Which leads me to this:

Steve Nutt, Untitled No. 4, 2008, Wool rug with linen backing, 61 1/2" long x 32" wide

BECAUSE IT'S BEAUTIFUL

Potter and fiber artist Steve Nutt, a close friend for many years, insists that Untitled No. 4, shown above, is just a rug he made by hand to be placed on the floor and used like any other rug. But in the photo above, it's hanging on the wall over the stairs that lead to Steve's basement-level studio on Ward Hill.

That's where I first saw it. Hung on a wall, where in my opinion it belongs. And when I saw it, I thought immediately of the brilliance of fine stained glass panels, in which each three-dimensional polished-glass element of the panel is chosen for its jewel-like luster.

Untitled No. 4 will probably be the star attraction of Steve's exhibit at Art by the Ferry, a visual, musical and performance art festival--all of it free, except for selected handcrafts and food vendors--scheduled for a variety of in- and outdoor venues in St. George during the weekends of June 6 and 7 and June 13 and 14. 

End rant.

KEEPING MOST OF THE PERSONAL MOSTLY PRIVATE

WALKING IS
TRANSPORTATION
"LACKS
INTROSPECTIVE PALAVER"
--Tevah Platt,
S.I. Advance,
Thursday, May 7, 2009

Writing about WALKING IS TRANSPORTATION (WIT) in last Thursday's Staten Island Advance, reporter Tevah Platt commented on this blog's un-blogginess, observing that WIT "lacks the introspective palaver that, for some, is synonymous with blogging."

Platt's comment surprised me. At first, my thin-skinned defensiveness kicked in. Was this a rebuke? A backhanded compliment? Both? Neither? Quickly, I examined the many blogs available for perusal on the homepage of Typepad®, the software I'm using to set down what you're reading.

What I saw on those blogs showed me Platt was right.  Though it seems to me my voice is quite audible in these 'pages' (when o when will I find a substitute for print-talk that feels natural?), I'm not comfortable becoming too public about what's personal.

It's not that I'm afraid to reveal the character flaws, epic blunders and dark impulses we all have. It's that, beyond the individual particulars, they're just like yours and everybody else's. Does anyone really crave another installment?

Sampling some of those Typepad® blogs, I felt uncomfortable knowing so much about people I don't know. But there's another reason I see no reason to tell all.

As a young poet, I witnessed firsthand the controversy over what was derided--in my opinion, justifiably--as the confessional fashion in poetry, which many thought had been ushered in by Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton, leading poets of the post-World War II generation.

This controversy was one that I and most poets I knew felt we had at least to consider in thinking about our own work. I think it forced us to learn how to fashion some sort of balance on the page, where what you reveal you reveal in the service of some larger idea or point. One that has a universality beyond the less than lovely impulses and behavior that are part of being human.