Author: beesquared

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Travel

Going for the Goal

bee-kickingAccording to the rules of football – the game we Americans refer to as soccer – a scissors or bicycle kick is permissible provided that, in the referee’s opinion, it is not dangerous to an opponent.

I recently set out to learn about football in anticipation of relocating to South Africa. The prospect of learning a team sport that might be fun to play and provide opportunities to meet people appeals to me.

For an introduction, I turned to a friend, the Wave, a lifelong footballer and Man U fan who played goalie at New Jersey’s Lawrence High School in the early 1980s.

Together on a recent visit to Edina, Minn., we headed to a pitch at a local high school. There under a blue sky on an 85-degree afternoon, the Wave introduced me to some of the game’s basics.

We reviewed kicking with the inside the outside of the foot and trapping the ball with the chest, thighs and shins. “Let the ball settle in front of you,” the Wave instructed. “Use your body to absorb the shock of the ball.”

We passed the ball back and forth as I alternated kicking with my right and left legs. “Boobs over the ball, don’t lean back,” the Wave barked. We sat on the ground and used our arms to pass the ball to each other as if simulating tennis strokes – an analogy the Wave said would show me how to lock my ankle for kicks.

He also showed me how to locate the ball’s center of gravity by reference to the alternating five- and six-sided panels that join to form a football, which produces a satisfying “pop” when struck correctly.

We gathered in front of the goal, where the Wave showed me some of the basics of shooting. “When settling in front of the goal, keep the ball moving toward the goal, within two feet of you at all times,” he said.

From the corner of the pitch, the Wave passed me the ball repeatedly so I could get the feel of trapping the ball either briefly or, alternatively, shooting without stopping, a concept known as “no-touch.”

“Don’t chase the ball, let it come to you,” the Wave counseled.

We reviewed the rule against being offside, which means being nearer to the opponents’ goal line than both the ball and the next-to-last defender (besides the goalie). “When passing downfield, lead your teammate,” the Wave said. “Especially when you go to the corners.”

We worked on my throw-in, which refers to a way of restarting play after the ball has crossed a sideline.

We took turns dribbling the ball while playing a two-person version of keep-away. The Wave showed me how to watch my opponent’s belly button – it reveals one’s center of gravity – as a way to avoid getting faked-out by one’s opponent.

After a few shots on goal we discovered that my left leg happens to be my dominant leg. I am left-handed but had thought my right leg was the stronger appendage. “You have a natural striker’s kick,” the Wave noted. I loved the feeling of striking the ball and watching it arc slightly as it left the ground and sailed toward the net.

I felt as if I could do that all day.

Categories
Home

Escape Velocity

esb_dusk2A spacecraft trying to leave the Earth needs to be traveling seven miles per second, or about 25,000 miles per hour, to overcome the planet’s gravity and avoid falling back to the surface.

Scientists call that speed escape velocity, which also describes what I feel I’m attaining as I prepare to leave New York City after a decade. Like a rocket that appears to bounce haltingly in the seconds before it breaks free of the launch pad, I’ve felt this summer the force of a life lived in one place.

In July, when I began the process of relocating to South Africa, I wobbled under the weight of my to-do list. I felt handcuffed by possessions, especially those I needed to inventory, photograph and describe for Craigslist. That’s not to mention the things that had piled up over the years: papers, books, photographs, magazines, Band-Aids, toothbrushes, notebooks, t-shirts, coffee mugs, bottle openers, eyeglass cases, towels, Sharpies, a chess set, bed sheets, receipts, bandanas, magazines, magnets, seashells and business cards.

I’ve encountered a battery of medical appointments and filled out a mountain of forms for a visa. I’ve planned what to pack and ended my lease. I have friends to see.

Leaving also means escaping the pull of the familiar. After 10 years in one home I can pad around in the dark without my eyeglasses and not bash into things. I know how far to turn the knob to release a full stream of water into the shower and how long the sink takes to drain. (I won’t recall wistfully the vagaries of my apartment’s 85-year-old plumbing.)

Outside I navigate largely by intuition. I know the city underfoot sufficiently well that often I can tell where I happen to be by looking at the pavement. I read on the subway until I feel my stop.

You might say New York exerts its own gravitational force. I suppose that’s because I love it here. Especially on summer evenings when cafes spill onto the sidewalks and trees overhang the streets and the neighborhoods become park-like and the parks themselves become the loveliest refuges. Or when I’m riding the subway to Manhattan from Brooklyn on a Thursday night and feel tired in a good way and can read for a dozen stops. I love the newsstands and movie theaters and the bodegas that sell Mexican Coca-Cola. I love the people.

I don’t think one can live in New York and not fear the day that your being a denizen might end. That you won’t be around for the change of season. That you’ll have to give up your apartment. That the dailiness of your life here will disappear.

About a decade ago, I left New York for Nashville. During my year away I felt as if I would never get to live here again. “It seems that the moment you left town they put up a wall around the place, and that you will never manage to vault over it and get back into the city again,” Nora Ephron wrote in a 2006 essay about moving away. But I later learned what Ephron also knew: you can come back.

Now summer is fading and the tide of my life here is receding. An echo fills my apartment where furniture and books and the clutter of life once absorbed conversations and footfalls. The last time I heard the echo was 10 years ago when I had just moved in and gazed out my window at the Empire State Building. I thought then I was the luckiest person in all of New York to have that view. I still feel that way.

Categories
Travel

Books to Bring

booksI am in the process of deciding what books to bring to South Africa.

Here in New York I have about 140 books in all. As libraries go, mine may be small — friends seem to have many more volumes — but I love my physical books, which I reread regularly. The titles range from history and literature to politics, science fiction and spy novels.

Most of the volumes won’t make the trip. I hope to travel lightly and sending things in advance makes little sense. Once there, I will visit the library or read e-books and books my girlfriend owns.

For now, here are the titles that I’m thinking of packing:

The Elements of Style (illustrated): The Strunk and White classic, with illustrations by Maira Kalman. A reference book I love to read. The writing is wonderful, the paintings are lovely and the formatting makes the edition a joy.

Long Walk to Freedom, The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela: The head of the anti-apartheid movement, yes, but also an introspective look at the life of a great leader. I can’t put it down.

The Fun of It: Stories from The Talk of the Town: I read these pieces over and over. In an introduction to the volume, New Yorker editor David Remnick writes that “the best Talk pieces have a combustive power; they are miniatures that provide a burst of pleasure and a revelatory glimpse into some corner of life.”

The Sabbath: Abraham Joshua Heschel: A meditative and poetic look at Jewish spirituality that doubles as a tale about time travel.

Midlands, by Jonny Steinberg: My girlfriend gave me this account of a murder in the midlands of KwaZulu-Natal. A great read and insights into South Africa’s passage to democracy.

The Atlas of the Conflict: Israel-Palestine: Another gift from my girlfriend, more than 500 maps of the territorial relationship between Israel and Palestine over the past century. Assembled by an Israeli architect who aimed to present facts in a politics-free context. A visualization on paper that inspires the journalist in me, as well as a beautifully designed book.

Cesar Vallejo: The Complete Posthumous Poetry: Poems by the Peruvian poet. I’ve never read poetry so simultaneously complex and lovely. Translated from Spanish. My girlfriend and I read “Discovery of Life” to each other, quote from it, inhale it.

Financial Accounting: Introduction to Concepts, Methods and Uses, by Roman Weil, Katherine Schipper and Jennifer Francis: An essential for someone who writes about business. From the warning that precedes the preface: “Study of this book is known to cause thinking, occasionally deep thinking. Typical side effects include mild temporary anxiety followed by profound long-term understanding and satisfaction.”

One, Two, Three…Infinity, by George Gamow: Big numbers, the world of four dimensions, and whether’s it’s possible to bend space, written with whimsy and clarity. Plus illustrations by the author, including one of an ancient Roman who tries to write “one million” in Roman numerals. Also, Mathematics and the Imagination: Edward Kasner and James Newman: Numbers, chance, geometries and more — all here in a book first published in 1940 that introduced the terms “googol” and “googolplex.” Both books were gifts from a friend who showed me how much fun mathematics can be.

Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion: I reread Didion’s essays at least twice a year. “On Self-Respect,” “On Keeping a Notebook,” “Los Angeles Notebook,” “Goodbye to All That.” Just typing this leaves me in awe of her reporting and writing.

 

 

Categories
People

Connection

I’ve long felt that New York is my macro-friend, that I am encircled by others like me. The feeling has been with me a lot recently as I’ve turned to Craigslist to sell much of the contents of my apartment.

“There’s nobody, not Ikea or anyone, who has one like this,” Allyson, who came to buy my bookcase told me. I painted the bookcase, which stands eight feet, when I moved to the city 15 years ago. Now I’m leaving and Allyson and her husband, Sean, who works in oil exploration, are arriving. “I should have worn sneakers,” said Sean, who wore sandals and had to carry the bookcase about a mile to their apartment.

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Angel, an aspiring Frank Sinatra impersonator, paid $40 for my Roland Mini-Cube amplifier. “I step out of the shower and sing but this will be my first attempt to sing publicly, said Angel, who likes “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” has a Marine Corp fade and wore white high tops with matching crew socks. “Buy yourselves a couple of Frappuccinos,” he told my girlfriend and me as he passed me two crisp $20s.

Dena, a teacher who lives with her boyfriend in the financial district, bought my blue couch with a pullout sofa ($400). “I love this,” she said. “I was looking for something extremely clean and comfortable.” The next day she came with two movers, who mummified the sofa in plastic wrap and tape before carrying it away.

Dickson, who lives in the Bronx, paid $45 for my AM/FM table radio with wooden cabinet. “It’s for my aunt, who is 94,” he said. “So she can listen to the Chinese radio station. She had a handheld radio but the sound was fuzzy. This radio has a grounding. She lives in a tenement building.”

Helen from the Upper East Side bought the antique Coca-Cola crate for $10. “This is a clean one,” she said. “I like the look of them.” Two weeks later, Helen returned to buy my antique tool box ($10).

John from Brooklyn paid $25 for the Mac Airport Extreme wi-fi router. He showed up on a bamboo bike. “Built one with my lady,” he explained. “The materials come from Ghana.” John said his sister and her husband “have a sweet patch of land in Kenya” after I told him about my moving to South Africa.

Susan arrived in a dusty blue Ford with a Penn decal in the rear window. “I’m sorry the inside of the car looks like a garbage pit,” she said. (Whirpool microwave, $50).

“It’s heavy,” Roswell said as he hoisted the Ryobi 7.25-inch circular saw he bought from me ($25). “It’s for a friend.”

Dan and I bonded over an Ikea end table ($15). “These things are super-useful,” I said as I handed it to him. “Yeah, I have two already, use ’em for books,” Dan said.

Gregory from Trinidad bought the Andis trimmer ($15). He commutes by car from his home in Queens to his job at the U.S. Postal Service vehicle maintenance facility in Chelsea.

“I’m stopping by before my kickball game so please don’t judge me for looking like an idiot,” emailed Drew (Queen-size bed base, $150). He wore tube socks and a white t-shirt with blue long sleeves that had “Kickball” written in script across the front.

Bruce from Connecticut (Brother compact laser printer, $25): “I’ll pay you $30 if you can drop it off at my son’s place who lives near you.” No sale.

“I was a speechwriter in Perth but now I’m hoping to get into international relations,” said Andrew, who together with his girlfriend, Anna, bought two bedside tables and a matching six-drawer dresser ($350).

Cate, from Williamsburg, bought the glo ball lamp ($40). “I’m thinking of moving to Spain,” she said. “I’ve been here ten years.”

Lydia came on Sunday to see the Heywood-Wakefield mirror ($80). She said she liked it and would run to the ATM for cash. Then she said she needed to measure the mirror and left abruptly. Lydia returned on Monday, handed me the money and left with the mirror, which she planned to take home to Brooklyn. “Just got home and it’s perfect,” she emailed later. “Thanks again.”

Categories
Travel

Vaccinate me

On a recent Wednesday morning I made my way across Manhattan to New York Presbyterian/Weill Cornell Medical Center for one of a series of vaccinations I’ve been receiving in advance of my move to South Africa.

I enjoy visiting the medical center, which awakens my inner science journalist. The trip entails its own routine: take the No. 6 train to Hunter College, stop for coffee at the Starbucks at 66th Street and Third Avenue, then head east to York. Turn north at The Rockefeller University, which, with its London plane trees, may be among the city’s loveliest places.rock u

The day after my visit to the neighborhood, Jessica Ho, a graduate fellow at the university, was slated to present her thesis, “Chormatin control of the antivrial response to influenza.” Chromatin, I learned, is the mix of DNA and proteins that forms the nucleus of cells.

For my part, thanks to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, which publishes clear guidance for travelers, and my physician — whom I’ll refer to as Dr. H. — I’ve been vaccinated (or soon will be) for the following:

  • Hepatits A
  • Hepatitis B
  • Typhoid
  • Rabies
  • Tetanus, diptheria and pertussis
  • Mumps, measles and rubella
  • Meningitis
  • Yellow Fever (scheduled)

“Yellow Fever is a political vaccine,” Dr. H. told me. That’s because the South African government requires visitors from certain countries, including many in Africa that I hope to visit, to present proof of vaccination. To be sure, yellow fever also happens to be a virus that can be fatal in people who develop a severe form of the disease, according to the CDC.

Oral typhoid vaccine (Photo by Brian Browdie)
Oral typhoid vaccine (Photo by Brian Browdie)

Spending time in vaccine land offers more than sore deltoids. For example, I’ve learned about human rabies, which is rare in the U.S. but much more common in other parts of the world, where fewer people vaccinate their dogs. In “Rabid: A Cultural History of the World’s Most Diabolical Virus,” veterinarian Monica Murphy and journalist Bill Wasik describe rabies as follows:

“It is the most fatal virus in the world, a pathogen that kills nearly 100 percent of its hosts in most species, including humans. Fittingly, the rabies virus is shaped like a bullet: a cylindrical shell of glycoproteins and lipids that carries, in its rounded tip, a malevolent payload of helical RNA.

“We can go to a bat cave together now,” my girlfriend, who lives in South Africa and who’s also been vaccinated for rabies, wrote to me.

The latest round of vaccines sent me into my past. According to records my mother gave me a few years ago, I was vaccinated as an infant against polio and smallpox.

This card certifies that at age six months I received the smallpox vaccine on the left arm. (Photo: Brian Browdie)
This card certifies that at age six months I received the smallpox vaccine on the left arm. (Photo: Brian Browdie)

Smallpox was wiped out about 33 years ago but remains a bioterrorism concern. The U.S. halted routine vaccination in 1972 and no one knows whether vaccines received before then still confer immunity. What experts do know is that the intentional release of smallpox in a global city such as London could have worldwide effects, according to a paper by researchers at Harvard University, Northeastern University, Aix-Marseille Université in France and the Computational Epidemiology Laboratory in Torino, Italy published July 17 in the journal Scientific Reports. According to the authors:

We show through large-scale individual-based simulations that biological targeted attacks on a single city can result in the presence of exposed individuals in several countries before the health system is aware of the release and the ensuing outbreak.

Not good.

My mother also gave me a copy of a feeding guide the pediatrician gave her when I was nine months old and weighed 23 pounds. Here are the desserts the guide recommended:

  • Soft custard
  • Rennet — made with tablet
  • Fruit whip
  • Lemon or orange gelatin
  • Cornstarch pudding
  • Jello

No wonder I weighed 23 pounds.

Hang around the medical center enough and you learn all sorts of things. I picked up the following intel from two Jamaican women whose badges identified them as administrators. “When they have an employee appreciation event at Sloan-Kettering, the food is da best,” one woman said to her colleague. “Over here they serve things with bacon. How do you serve bacon? Not everybody eats pork.”

Categories
Favorite Places

My Favorite Places: Butler Library

butlerI like Butler Library on the campus of Columbia University. Make that love. Especially in summer. On the hottest days I head to Butler, where air conditioning, the ornamental ceilings, the portraits of Columbia’s leaders who gaze out from centuries past and the knowledge that two million volumes lie within reach offer both an invitation to ideas and a sense of repose.

In the main reading room the table lamps glow yellow and daylight fills the room. The place sounds lovely: fingers scroll on computer mice and MacBooks snap shut and people’s sandals clack across the tile floor.

The other day a girl across a table from me put down a cup of ice that made a satisfying pop. She wore a brick red shirt and typed on a MacBook Pro encased in a sleeve of the same color.

A guy to her right who wore a blue t-shirt closed a hardcover book with a soft thud. Someone’s muted iPhone buzzed. The air hummed. A man at the reference desk in a black t-shirt and madras shorts spoke in hushed tones with a librarian who wore a coral-colored sweater.

The acoustics of Butler have captivated others. One blogger, Gustavo Val, took his microphone to Butler’s Milstein reading room, where he recorded the “silent” environment:

“Additionally, other irregular sounds are present in this environment: the sound of someone getting up, someone coughing, footsteps over the marble floor, zippers, and the click of an opening door. Focusing our attention further other subtle sounds appear in our recording: the sound of turning pages and of fingers typing a computer keyboard.”

I bring long sleeves to ward off Butler’s chill, which is the opposite of my apartment, where the air grows hot and stale and my MacBook overheats and the city assaults me aurally.

Butler, with its Italian Renaissance design, opened in 1934. The building was financed by Edward Harkness, a harness maker and philanthropist who was among the early investors in Standard Oil, and designed by James Gamble Rogers. The building was initially called South Hall but later renamed in honor of Nicholas Murray Butler, who served as the Columbia’s president from 1902 to 1945.

At Butler’s core stands a 15-level stack of steel shelves that rises six floors. Inside the stacks “there is the deep quiet of protection and near-abandonment,” wrote Ben Ratliff, a music critic for the New York Times, who also counts Butler among his summer places. According to Ratliff:

“You hear the hum of the lights, turned on as needed; that’s it. There’s a phone to make outgoing calls on the fifth floor. To me the stacks are the most sacred space in the library, yet here nobody’s telling you not to talk. You’re on your own. It’s a situation for adults.”

Butler’s stacks make Ratliff “dopily happy,” which describes my feeling about the library generally. In the span of a few hours recently I pored over a history of New York State, discovered a two-volume set of Thoreau’s writings, flipped through a biography of Roger Williams and glanced at an atlas of the world.

Author Herman Wouk, who graduated from Columbia the year Butler opened, called the university a place of “doubled magic,” where “the best things of the moment were outside the rectangle of Columbia; the best things of all human history and thought were inside the rectangle.”

Butler embodies that magic. Buzzfeed recently ranked the library one of the 49 most breathtaking in the world.

I cannot imagine a more extraordinary place to be. “Outside it’s 100F,” a Butler partisan named Therese Grinceri tweeted on Friday. “Inside it’s lovely and cool @ Butler Library.”