Come On Irene...or the second most overused weekend wordplay, Rock You Like a Hurricane

Well, it's been a wonky week here in NYC. First an earthquake rocked the East Coast on Tuesday (as a Californian I am inclined to chuckle at the spastic reaction, but then again, as my 60 floor building swayed to and fro--despite my natural instinct to automatically duck & cover--it's quite counter-intuitive to wrap your head around the earth shaking on this side of the country)...and then we spent the weekend with Irene.

Bloomberg is taking some heat and some praise--shutting down mass transit, evacuating low lying areas of the city--but let's face it, we all bitched and moaned during Snowmaggedon, so no matter what Mayor Mike did this round he was gonna take some heat. But, with mass transit back up and running Monday AM and property damage and loss of life at a relative low, it's hard to say we weren't well prep'd. (On a personal note, I was never the biggest Bloomby fan, but after a weekend spent cooped up indoors watching four press conferences on NY1--his subtly unbuttoned shirt collars and gravely voice, telling us all to quit our bitching and stay safe, I gotta say I dig the guy).

So what really happened in NY this weekend? There's a lot of press going on about the sense of community amongst New Yorkers who rally together in disasters, but I am inclined to disagree. The reality is a bunch of individuals cooped up in their respective cubby holes, bitching about the inconveniences of limited services, lack of transportation, venturing out to buy up the last of the hurricane supplies (mainly beer, wine, and liquor although there was not a flashlight to be found on the island after 5pm Friday night), and then complaining that we were forced to eat and drink indoors on one of the last remaining summer weekends (the fear of impending Labor Day looms larger than a Cat 1 hurricane).

Stores, shops, restaurants, and empty groceries all boarded up (let's face it, bars really were our only option), the city was on lockdown after the subway closed at noon on Saturday. And god forbid we wait over 15 minutes for groceries. Watching cheese platters, salumis and quinoa salads (no more 11-grain whole wheat sandwich bread?! you mean the sushi guys aren't working today?! how on earth will we survive?!) fly off the West Village shelves Saturday morning was an interesting lesson in emergency preparedness. Easy for Manhattanites to complain, while our doormen and building employees were forced to spend the weekend in our basements monitoring storm damage. It makes one realize how those who live in the furthest boroughs are really the people who make the city run, without whom all of NY life's little conveniences (the bodegas, the cab rides, the deliveries) aren't possible.

While the storm was less intense than expected, Sunday morning was an eerie calm--no comforting rumble of trains beneath ground, no horns honking and not a cab in sight on 7th Ave, it was a surprisingly lonely and deserted city. But as yesterday's afternoon winds blew out the remaining clouds, the sunset was truly nature's silver lining to a weekend, if not well-spent, then at least interestingly-spent.

It's hard not to feel like something has changed today. As the plywood is discarded and tape comes off the windows, cloudless skies, humidity-less sunshine and a hint of fall in the air really do make it feel like we have started fresh. By far the most beautiful day we have had all summer, it's difficult not to feel warm about the city and people of New York. Like I said, it's been a wonky week.

Pop-Up Madness

Admittedly one of my least favorite "foodie" trends over the last two years has been the overabundance of pop-up everything. Don't get me wrong--born and raised on VH1's Pop Up Video (the original pop-up) has me hooked on assorted fun facts and little known backstories. But these days, as the economy continues to struggle pop-ups are moving beyond food trucks and restaurants, into the realm of everyday life.

Maybe it's a jaded New Yorker thing (in honor of today being my two year anniversary living in the Big Apple), but I'm popped out. In my neighborhood alone (thanks, in large part, to the demise of St. Vincent's Hospital) pop-up shops are a dime a dozen--cupcakes, ice cream, designers, two month "once in a lifetime" chef's specials...suffice it to say I'm over it.
Until the new section of the High Line opened, and bringing with it a POP UP ROLLER RINK. Easily wooed by anything related to four wheels and red rubber stoppers, I just had to check it out.

Summer is prime pop-up time, when seasonal foodstuffs and nice weather get together to bring the East Coast a unique local bounty that is nearly impossible to come across the rest of the year. Boosted by the Colicchio's The Lot on Tap (featuring a Brooklyn Brewery High Line Hef and a series of specialty food trucks), Uniqlo sponsors the roller rink. A vacant parking lot transformed into a roller rink with beer and food sounds like my heaven, but I have to say, I was less than impressed.

Lacking the circumference of regulation rinks, the High Line roller rink feels exactly what it is--pop-up. $12 dollars for entrance and a pair of skates which have been god only knows where (and personally I prefer more ankle support) for a bumpy lot in which to perform small circles. How about we take some of the proceeds and build a permanent fixture in a neighborhood that, thanks to the High Line, is primed for a serious resurgence? And if that fixture just happens to be a smooth-as-silk roller rink for those of us who are disco-inclined, all the better.

Limited time pop-ups are selling us all short. So focused are we on the novelty of latest trends (ah novelty, one of the great American pastimes to be sure), that we are willing to forfeit quality and staying power. In the grand tradition of free-market capitalism it has become socially acceptable to get in, make money, and get out before anyone can tell how viable, socially responsible or ethically relevant a pop-up business is. Pop-ups literally do not have to do anything well to be a short-lived success--so eager for the "next best thing," we are being blinded by an avalanche of newfangled showmanship. For my money, better to spend some quality time with the super groovy folks at the Central Park Dance Skate Association....for now I'll keep working on my spins.


...and a coincidentally well-timed article on the Gastronomics of Pop-Ups