It was only a matter of time before people started partying again, or rather, partying enough to get caught. They’ve raved under the Kosciuszko Bridge, cruised the East River, and gotten fake COVID test before being permitted entry to hotel rooftops in Long Island City. “Out East,” they flouted social distancing rules to pay a minimum of $850 for a charity concert featuring the Chainsmokers and the Goldman Sachs CEO, or should I say, “DJ Sol.”
People are yearning to socialize like they used to, for the release of a night out. Meanwhile, venues from the Plaza to Union Pool are desperate for some kind of relief, and dance floors are dead for the foreseeable future. More than 150 clubs have banded together to form the New York Venue Association, pushing for legislation that would help independent venues survive the pandemic. In their announcement, they noted that the average New York venue only makes $375 (!) in monthly profits from food and beverage, live streams, and merch, and that on average, a venue already has $150,000 in overdue rent.
According to a panel of international nightlife experts who call themselves the “VibeLab,” regulated, outdoor events could provide a temporary solution until there’s a widely administered vaccine. In New York, comedy clubs and bartenders are already experimenting in parks and on streets and rooftops. A potential, more dystopian solution (for the SoHo House, Fyre Festival type) is the members-only club that offers fever-detecting thermal technology and branded face masks.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about my last nights out, before my city and the world shut down. For work, I went to a stranger’s karaoke party, which was actually still fun, and was forced to sing “Don’t You Wan’t Me Baby.” Tova and I drank Tecates and took over the jukebox at the bar across the street, which hasn’t opened again since March. I’m still mad at myself for being “too tired” (never again!) for a friend-of-a-friend’s house party in February, and remember the last show I went to (Norah Jones’s band Puss n Boots, at Rough Trade- hey Eliza!). Sometimes I even dwell on the nights we’ve lost—and all the new house party friends, the late-night car rides across the East River, the last seats at the bar, the surprisingly good show openers, the tipsy compliments in the women’s bathroom, that will never be.
I don’t even want to speculate about when any of that will come back. But yesterday, I rode the subway for the first time in about five months. When I swiped my MetroCard, I felt a jolt of excitement. Like “life before” and all of its motion, and anticipation, was stored deep within the muscle memory of this one small action. For now, I’ll take it.
Stat of the week…
50%: Increase in the fatality rate per mile on New York City streets between June 1 and August 3. In the New York Daily News, Gridlock Sam calls attention to the arrival of a new plague: traffic violence. “The past two months have been about the deadliest we’ve seen in perhaps a decade with 57 people dying on NYC roads,” he writes.
Around town…
- NYC kids could be taking classes in a dim sum restaurant or a cathedral this fall. (The City)
-Upper West Siders are bitterly divided over the relocation of hundreds of homeless New Yorkers to empty hotels in their neighborhood. (West Side Rag)
-Don’t sleep on this Craigslist deal: “Ever wanted your own private ball pit? Ever wanted to pretend you are floating in cocoa puff cereal? Ever wanted to prank your roommate? This is your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make it happen for free, because I need to liquidate 75,000 balls in Lower Manhattan ASAP. Please refer to the picture to get an idea of what that quantity looks like.” According to Gothamist, the balls are likely left over from a Taylor Mac play that opened shortly before the pandemic. (Gothamist)
-The great New York journalist Pete Hamill passed away last week, at 85. I loved reading his 1987 piece “The New York That We’ve Lost”: “Nostalgia is a treacherous emotion, at once a curse against the present and an admission of permanent resentment, never to be wholly trusted. For many of us, looking back is simply too painful; we must confront the unanswerable question of how we let it all happen, how the Lost City was lost. And so most of us have trained ourselves to forget.” (NYMag)
Did you know…
In light of New York AG Letitia James suing the NRA—did you know that the NRA was started on land that’s currently home to the Queens County Farm Museum?
More from the NYC Parks website:
In August 1871 Conrad Poppenhusen (1818-1883), the promoter behind the Central Railroad of Long Island, bought a right-of-way for the railroad all along the north side of Braddock Avenue, including the Creed Family farm. Poppenhusen offered the remainder of the farm to the National Rifle Association as a rifle range for the New York State National Guard. When the NRA agreed, they renamed the site Creedmoor, after the Creed family. From the 1870s to the 1890s, Creedmoor hosted the National Rifle Association’s title match. Many nearby streets hold names relating to the association, including Winchester Boulevard as well as Range, Musket, Pistol, and Sabre Streets. In the 1890s, the property was acquired by the State. The range was closed in 1907. In 1912, the land was developed as a “farm colony” for many of the Brooklyn Psychiatric Center’s patients. A successful venture, the facilities were expanded and eventually became a separate entity from the Brooklyn center. By 1934 the hospital had grown to include 70 buildings, and was known as Creedmoor State Hospital.
Tree of the week…
Another casualty of Hurricane Isaias, spotted poking through a window on South Portland Ave in Fort Greene on Friday: