Fred Rogers and Sesame Street - Fucking Genius

Let me clear the air from the getgo - there is not a hint of irony, intellectual elitism or wink-wink-nudge-nudge in today's title.

As a man who's gotten into the habit of removing his work shoes and throwing on a comfy sweater the minute he gets home, I have nothing but the utmost respect for the late, great Dr. Fred Rogers.


Of course, my respect for the Overlord of the Land of Make-Believe pales in comparison to my dad's respect for the guy, mostly because the brief time Mr. Rogers spent with us via public television each day was the only time my brother Jim and I wouldn't try to maim each other as children.

Mr. Rogers somehow channeled our violent aggression and anger at the world into a brief moment of calm, as we learned how milk is bottled and brought to our homes and then watched hand puppets solve day-to-day problems while implicitly supporting the fuedal system.


As a result, my dad will rush to Mr. Rogers' defense, come any situation.

And rightfully so.

Sesame Street?

It also kept us in line. Or at least distracted.

Sure, we got a little restless during the "One of These Kids Is Not Like the Other" segment (why was that kid not only doing something different, but also obviously "slow"?!?), but my brother liked Cookie Monster, I liked the Count, so we agreed on an uneasy truce during that show, too.


"But, Matt, as coherent and logical as that explanation is, we'd still love to know why you'd give such high (albeit obscene) praise to both Mr. Rogers and Sesame Street!" you may say...

I would, of course, point out that it is rude to interrupt me mid-blog (there's a comment thingy at the bottom, people!), but I would also admit you've got a point.

Well, I'll end the suspense right here - these past few days, I've recognized Mr. Rogers' "hello, neighbor!" genius while answering the haunting question that Sesame Street asked me in sing-song fashion so many years ago: who are the people in my neighborhood?

Of course, given that I'm not a fucking social retard, I didn't need any help from these guys, although I dig their "get to know your neighbors" cartoon...


By the way, as much as I like to imagine myself as the suave, sophisticated owl with his jaunty lean and knowing beak-smile, I have the sinking suspicion that I'm the obnoxious duck with his tie all askew.

Nothin' quacktastic about that.

Anyway, I didn't need their godforsaken advice.

I had a plan, and besides, it's not like I was out looking to meet people. I just wanted to people-watch.

Or, as I prefer to say, "do some field work as an amateur urban sociologist."

Of course, I was after the kind of knowledge you can't get in college or ambitiously titled books like this one...


I'd hardly say I was out to "understand" anything. Mostly, I just wanted some pithy observations that I could toss into this half-assed blog.

And I got that.

And more...

"But, Matt, where did this project come from? I mean, shouldn't you be... um... working or something?" you may ask, concerned, yet again, that I'm about to ask you for money.


To which I reply, I believe I was talking...

Some of you may recall my earlier blog, heralding my heroic return to the blog-o-sphere, where I noted that I'm yet again "between projects," as I get ready to start my new job this coming Monday.

Like any productive human being, I spent my last two weeks at the old job thinking up all kinds of marvelous ideas for this "tussen tijd" as my Dutch friends would call it.

I was going to go to a museum, maybe get my fishing license to break in the fly rod my brother got me for my birthday, and if I was really feeling ambitious, I was going to drive somewhere outside the city and take a nature walk while I snapped some pictures with our new camera.

Don't give me that look. Me and nature? We're like THAT!

Hell, when I was unemployed, I almost learned to speak with trees, as you can see in one of my many pictures from my time "between projects" in late 2004...


Still, if you know me, you can guess how my grand plans for this week ended up.

(And if you don't know me, why the hell are you still reading this?)

Let's just say things didn't match up to the Grand Plan.

Now, now, before anyone goes scheduling another awkward intervention, I'll point out that this time my revised plans were intentional.

With any kind of unstructured time, I realized that what I really needed to do was relax for once, catch up on my reading, and get fucking healthy, as well as get my shit together for the new job.

So I did just that - I worked out every day, ate right and drank a lot of smoothies with all kinds of herbal supplements and whatnot.

For a few days, I felt like shit. But I kind of expected that, as my body went through beer-and-wings withdrawal.


Why must they be so tasty? WHY?!?

Where was I?

Oh yeah, feelin' like shit and busy takin' care of business...

By Wednesday, though, I felt like a fucking champ and I'd done all my pre-work getting of shit together. So I decided, "today, I'm just going to wander around Williamsburg and see who's in my neighborhood during the day, while I'm usually at work..."


Holy crap, have I been missing out.

It was like drinking from a fucking firehose. I mean, people pay money to see shows in this town, when all they have to do is take a day off and walk around their neighborhood.

Mid-way through making the list below, I realized that I'd be typing until my fingernails fell off if I tried to capture everything I saw in the past few days. But here are some highlights...

The full-time, featured players

These are the people who are always around. I can see them in front of a store, walk eight blocks in the other direction, and they'll be turning the corner and bumping into me when I get there.

If you ever get off the J train at Marcy Ave or the L at Lorimer, be on the lookout for...

* Catman - this guy's fantastic. He's like 163 years old, Hispanic, and always on the corner of Hope and Havemeyer, every day starting at 5am and ending a little after I go and get "just one more six-pack of beer" from the deli down the street. He wears this Lenin-esque hat and Members Only jacket, no matter what the weather, but best of all, he spends every morning walking around the neighborhood with a grocery bag full of cheap cat food, feeding all the strays. I like to think that he could command this army of cats to destroys his enemies, should he so choose. For that reason alone, I say hi to him every day. Sometimes, he says "hi" back. On other days, I keep my ears open for that low growl that comes when the kittycats stop purring and the catshit's about to hit the motherfucking fan...


* Mr. Handsome - as if Catman wasn't awesome enough, in walks Mr. Handsome. I've seen enough Sopranos to know that I shouldn't make Sopranos jokes about a fiftysomething Italian man in a velour track suit with perfect hair, gold chains and a shiny gold watch who seems to know everyone in the neighborhood. I will say this much--he can do "his walking" on the McCarren Park track, and when he's done, his hair will still be perfect and his Fila's will still be as white as a polar bear's t'aint (they keep them clean, you know). Niki claims to have met Mr. Handsome's friends; I'm extremely jealous.


* The Disgruntled Albino - this guy is fucking everywhere. And his name says it all. He's albino and disgruntled. Based on what I can tell, he spends his days selling ice cream in summer, playing dominoes all year, and generally complaining, loudly, in Spanish to anyone who will listen. And he's not a small man - he's probably 5'10" x 2 (tall and wide), so when he starts yellin', there's no missing it. He's yelled at me before, and apparently my "yo no hablo espanol" is not convincing. That or it's too good, because it didn't stop him. If you do get on his bad side, buy a coconut ice from him to buy precious time for a quick escape while he counts your change!


* Roaming Packs of Surly Hipsters - ok, anyone who has heard of Williamsburg saw this one coming, but I had no idea how strategically the hipster community covered this entire neighborhood during the day. I'm ok with the guy at Atlas Cafe intentionally leaving my tea bag open just because I walk in with The Wall Street Journal while he is blasting Franz Ferdinand because, hey, he knows exactly what he's doing and I know exactly what I'm doing. Still, the conspiracy theorist in me imagines nightly meetings of the Hipster Squad (formerly the Oberlin Chomsky Appreciation Club) where they divvy up the neighborhood for the following day. I can just see it: "Quentin, you, Shane and that hot asian girl have to, like, totally sit in that burrito place and talk about how most people at that art show just didn't get it..." "What art show?" "Just fucking do it, ok!" "Whatever..."


* Kids Who Should be in School - is March 31st a holiday I've never heard of? Because these kids should be in school. I mean, at 10:30 this morning, I saw a bunch of 18-year-old Polish dudes playing bocce while drinking Bud tall boys in paper bags. Then a bunch of Dominican guys on tiny dirtbikes kept circling around this teenage Puerto Rican girl and her dog (although they stopped when she threatened to kick their asses one-by-one). But the coup de grace was the Teen Girl Squad hanging out on the soccer field by the track while I was running - it would have been really awkward for me to say something to them, as the sketchy bald dude, but I will say that a bunch of teenage girls should not practice bellydancing in the park in the early afternoon. I mean, there are only so many prayers God should answer for unemployed sixtysomething alcoholic guys who hang out on park benches all day, right?


The One-Time Stars

These are people I've seen only once, but they really made an impression on me.

They would have made an impression on you, too...

* Le Mitch Hedberg look-alike - this simultaneoulsy made me sad and inspired me. But there he was, the doppelganger of the late, great Mitch Hedberg, all decked out in a vintage Old School Montreal Canadiens jersey. I didn't get a chance to ask him his opinion of "broken escalators" because my French sucks, but I'm pretty sure I know what he would have said...


* The Tiny Girl with the Great Dane - no shit, the dog was taller than she was. I mean, she may have been a bit smaller than average, but this great dane would have eclipsed Clifford. What's funny is that she had this really bitchy look, as if to say "don't fuck with me and don't mess with my dog." Meanwhile, I was carrying a shopping bag that reeked of meat, her dog was growling and lunging at me, and I was busy wetting my pants.


* Squinty - this is more of a wish-list item, because I really haven't seen anyone around our neighborhood that I'd call "Squinty." Yet.

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.


Like a sponge, I'm going to keep soaking in the neighborhood and posting my ramblings here. At some point, I'll also start sneaking pictures of people with my telephoto lens (or just asking their permission...) to really add some "zing" to the stories!

So keep coming back!

Oh, before I go, I'd like to point out that I did get to use the new camera, and man do I dig it.

And it takes great pictures, too. So you'll be subjected to all kinds of pictures in the future. There may even be some nature in there somewhere.

Hell, this is kind of "nature," Brooklyn style...


Sort of.