As some of you may know, I am currently writing for the International Business Times. On the day the snowstorm was supposed to hit, I pitched a story wondering how various cities in the United States Northeast were going to help the homeless. I got to go to the historic Bowery Mission in Manhattan, and the operations director Matt Krivich was kind enough to show me around. Beyond that, he helped with my request to talk to one of the homeless who was seeking shelter from the storm.
I got to interview Gerald Hudson, an African-American Vietnam War veteran. As much as I wished I could have written the interview as it was spoken to me, I had to quote Hudson as I would in an article; that is in the third person. Here is how the interview went as Hudson and I spoke.
Me: Are you keeping warm from this storm?
Gerald Hudson: I’m just trying my best, man.
Me: Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?
GH: Sure thing! I just want to let you know, thanks to this Mission, I have the warmest equipment around.
Me: What do you mean by “warmest equipment?”
GH: A jacket, man. This Mission gave me a jacket.
Me: Is that the one you’re wearing right now?
GH: No way. I only wear that specially when I go out. I ain’t gonna wear that in here. Do you want me to show you?
Me: Is that alright with you?
GH: Sure! Come, follow me!
(We walk to the chapel)
GH: I’m a grateful man, and I’m always grateful for what this Mission has done for me.
(We walk to the pews where Hudson has his stuff. He lifts his bag off the pews, and hidden underneath is a nice brown jacket)
Me: That’s a very nice jacket.
GH: Yeah, it keeps me warm when I go out.
Me: So how did you know to come in here for the storm? Did someone tell you?
GH: No, I’ve been here for two weeks.
Me: Oh, so you didn’t just come in for the storm?
GH: Nah, I’ve been here for two weeks. But trust me I’m trying to get a place to live. The last time before that was six months ago.
Me: I’m sorry?
GH: I don’t want to be here too much. I’ve been here for two weeks, and the last time I had to be here was six months ago.
Me: Oh, Where were you during the time you were not here. Did you have a place to stay?
GH: Yea, kind of.
Me: What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?
GH: Bad things happened, violence and stuff. I’m just trying to get a permanent place to stay, you know that? But I’m just waiting for the right time for that to happen.
Me: I’m sure that will work out for you one day.
GH: I’m a vet, you know that? Vietnam War.
Me: I’m grateful for what you’ve done for the country, as I’m sure many others are.
GH: I came back, and I had a hard time. I’m at the epitome of… of… (can’t remember what he said here)
Me: Are you a religious man?
GH: I’m a believer, I’m a believer in God, in the Father, and that he will take care of me.
Me: Well I hope things work out for you.
GH: I hope so too. Hey man you know I gotta try, but would you by any chance…? (hand gestures) But I don’t think you can right?
Me: I’m sorry, I’m not supposed to give anything. I wish you all the best.
I went up to witness UNICON for the first time. For those who do not know what UNICON is, it is a unicycle convention, kind of like the equivalent of the Olympics for unicycling. For the first time, UNICON is held in a location that is financially accessible to me, and it would be remiss of me to miss it again.
And so it was a trek to Montreal to attend UNICON 17, where some other Singaporeans would also be attending. Going up would also mean that the Masticating Bunnies From Hell from Ride the Lobster would be reunited for the first time in six years.
However that reunion would be tardy because Jiahui, one of the team members, would be so exhaustively busy traipsing all around Montreal visiting friends while we friendless people huddle around and twiddle thumbs.
I’m surprised my well-worn and falling apart bicycle bag has held it together for so long after all these years. It last saw use on my trip back to Singapore in January, and with each subsequent use, it falls apart bit by bit. A zipper pull fell out previously (the zipper itself was still intact) and I wonder what else would break on this trip to Montreal.
And of course, it had to rain on my way to Penn Station. I brought an umbrella along with me, and holding on to one bag of two unicycles, a plastic bag with some food to last the 11-hour train journey, an overstuffed backpack, and an umbrella should probably be a Cirque du Soleil act of its own.
I got to the train station an hour early and I was like “Great! Maybe I’ll get a chance to snag an early seat.” I totally forgot one had to check in luggage from States-side, and because I didn’t do so, when the train opened for boarding, I had to go check in, and ended up being the last to board.
Thankfully there was a backward-facing wheelchair-reserved seat available. I was feeling pretty much handicapped by that point, and I had the right number of wheels (big ones, at least), and there were no real wheelchair people in need, so I took it. It wasn’t too bad, I got stretch out, as I hurtled backwards all the way towards Montreal.
So, I was supposed to meet some of the Singaporeans at the college, where some of the events are held. Interestingly, no one bothered to tell me the instructions on getting there, only providing me with a street address. Well, I don’t have wireless internet on my phone, but thank goodness for being old-fashioned, and I had to ask three people how to get there. The first older station attendant didn’t speak much English (why is he working at the information kiosk at the main train station then?) but I understood enough to get to Berri-Uqam. There, I asked a younger English-speaking lad who told me to get to Pie-IX (pronounced “pea-neuf”), which I retrospectively probably remember the older station attendant mentioning something like that, but “pea-neuf” and “Pie-IX” didn’t connect as being the same thing in my mind because je ne parle pas français. Anyway at Pie-IX some teenager told me to just go down a road, at which point I took out my 20″ unicycle, shouldered my 29″ uni, my backpack, and my umbrella, and finally made it to the college.
I think UNICON 17 already kicked off two days ago. But on my first night, it was apparently Naked Bike Ride day, and the unicyclist were planning on crashing it. So many unicyclists went, it was a pleasant surprise. I believe the number of unicyclists matched the bicyclists head for head. Males also outnumbered females maybe four to one. And there were definitely more naked unicyclists than there were naked bicyclists, as a lot more bicyclists kept more pieces of clothing on. Perhaps as the UNICON attenders were from another country, they didn’t have to worry about maintaining some sort of professional credibility in Montreal as many of the bikers did. Or maybe Europeans just like getting naked a lot more.
As I was not registered to participate competitively, there was very little I could actually do at UNICON. I felt like making friends was an uphill endeavour, when many already had their circles of friends either from having attended UNICON before, got to know each other by virtue of participating in the same event, or were basically from the same country.
One morning, I sat myself down at a random table, and introduced myself to the table. It comprised Americans, a Canadian, and some Germans. I eventually got to see them over the next couple days and even got to hang out with them once or twice.
Some of them (the Canadian and the Germans) went up to Mont Royal, and I joined them. One of them played the piano while I unicycle-danced in the background. It was all fun and games, until the experts showed up. Then they proceeded to defy gravity and jumped all over the place, and us mere mortals of lesser skill just stopped.
I got to see the UNICON events, of course. I was mostly there for the freestyle, and it met my expectations of what I thought it to be. Slightly dismaying was to see six to nine year olds completely outclassing me with freestyle, as the leapt onto their unis with a stand-up leg-up glide like physics was optional.
Freestyle expert solo was OK, and the first place winner went to USA Matt Sindelar, who did a Western cowboy themed routine using that very well-known tune from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, gun sounds and all.
Japan’s freestyle male expert solo entry Kaito Shoji was slightly less than what I expected, compared to last year’s winner. But he was still pretty good, and had great synchronicity with the music at the beginning.
Thomas Tiercy from Switzerland had one of the more interesting routines, though he didn’t place in top three. Perhaps it was because his routine was less about unicycling and more about object manipulation, but I felt it deserved a place on the pedestal because it was so different from the rest. It was also more show-sy than the others, which I appreciated a lot.
Shoji’s pair entry with Natsume Yamamoto was definitely much better, and the performance was more enjoyable. It featured great chemistry between the unicyclists, and felt less like a run-through of tricks, and more like a performance.
Here are some of the photos from Freestyle Solo and Pair.
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While Street really isn’t my thing, here are also pictures from the competition. I have no idea who these people are, but the UNICON list says these people are: Christian Huriwai (New Zealand), Maxwell Schulze (USA), Raphael Pöham (Austria), Josef Sjönneby (Sweden), Jack Sebben (Canada), and Casper van Tielraden (Netherlands).
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I’m breaking up this post because it’s getting too long. More to come in part 2!
What to do when you’ve got a creative mind, a knack for photography, and temperatures are hovering near single digits?
Go blow bubbles! Then take pictures of what happens next.
Arlington’s Angela Kelly of Kelly Images and Photography has been featured in this blog before for her beautiful natural displays of dew drops and melting frost.
But when she heard we were about to be invaded by a chilly arctic wind, she decided to try her hand at something new: Frozen bubbles.
“When I learned that we were expecting to see our coldest temperatures last week since last February, I knew I had to try to capture the ice we were bound to see it in its best (and most interesting) form,” she told me.
So she and her 7-year-old son ventured out on some very frigid mornings last week when the temperatures ranged from 9 to 12 degrees.
Then, using a homemade solution from a recipe that she found on the Internet that combined dish soap, karo syrup and water, they gave Jack Frost several individual easels for him to paint his magic.
“We blew the bubbles across the top of our frozen patio table and also upon the hood of my car and then we watched in awe as each individual bubble froze with their own unique patterns,” Kelly said. “We noted how they would freeze completely before the sun rose but that once the sun was in view they would defrost along the tops or cease freezing altogether. We also noted how they would begin to deflate and implode in on themselves making them look like alien shapes or in some cases shatter completely leaving them to look like a cracked egg.”
She said it was so cold that some of the smaller bubbles would freeze mid-air and drop like stones to the ground.
“Are we ever too old to play with bubbles?” she asked, rhetorically. “I really think that this is the most fun, unique and beautiful series I’ve done yet!”
You can see more of her amazing natural photography — frozen bubbles, melted frost and others, on her Facebook page.
It began in Williamsburg. “I know this is a weird question, but are you going to ride on that?” asked a fine folk working at the Meatball Shop, pointing at my unicycle. “Yes, I will be riding home on it,” I said. “Ooh, can we see you ride on that when you do?”
The skies were overcast and the clouds above were getting chummy with each other.
“I’ll sweeten the deal. Would you like some free cookies?” the lady said.
Who’d turn down free cookies? “Uh, sure,” I said, slightly taken aback.
So I waited a couple minutes more and received some delightful chocolate chip cookies. I ate one, gave my friend one, and took the last one in my hand and got ready to go. Half the staff came out to see me ride off triumphant with their cookies in hand. A couple drops of rain landed on my head. I hugged my friend goodbye, mounted awkwardly on my 29″ unicycle whilst trying not to drop the cookie. A car behind me honked angrily as I took some seconds to gain momentum.
The staff and my friend cheered. I was a celebrity! And then I took off. The cookie lasted the length of North 8th Street to North 9th Street.
And I commenced my six-mile dash back to Prospect-Lefferts.
I could see that the sun still shone warily from behind the consternation of the angry clouds some distance ahead, while behind me the rain was starting to become heavier and heavier. I was chasing the sun, pursued by the rain. Pedalling as fast as I could, I could feel the rain less and less. Down Union Ave I went until I hit Atlantic Ave. Curses, a red light! As I waited for light to change, the slow but steady clouds crept up and dropped its vindictive, wet victory over my attempt to outrun it. Green light! I sped off again, swerving the wretched potholes that comprise Brooklyn roads.
My legs were starting to burn and I started to sweat profusely from exertion. Down Brooklyn Ave, I had gained the lead on the rain clouds and only the slightest rain drops landed on me, but at this point where the rain failed to get me wet, I was doing a fine job of wetting myself with my own sweat; it was impossible to tell if I was wetter from the rain or from sweat.
I turned onto Nostrand Ave and continued down. The storm clouds yawed away and the sun came out to announce my victory. Yes! Score one for man, over Mother Nature. I reached home and hobbled up the stairs to gloat my sweaty, hard-earned victory.
Last night, I was practicing being supine on the floor in my bedroom because the weather was really hot, and lying down seemed like a good idea. Despite having broken my glasses and being unable to see much, I still managed to see a mouse suddenly dart out from behind the dressers to the radiator and then back again.
This commenced an hour-long crusade where I attempted to bop the mouse on its head with a shoe.
I don’t know why I thought I could do it. Firstly, I could barely see. Secondly, trying to bop a mouse on its head with a shoe hardly seems like a very efficient method of getting rid of vermin. But it was already midnight, and the myth of a 24-hour convenience store where I could buy traps does not exist in my neighbourhood. Shoe it is then.
I wiggled the extension cord that ran behind my dressers, and the mouse ran out from the opposite side.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! I struck out. It ran under my bed.
I pulled and moved stuff out from under my bed, jostled things around, wiggled more wires, and it darted out again.
More whapping, more missing. There are now black scuff marks from the shoe on the door and the post. Hopefully they will come off. I also hope the neighbours don’t think too badly of me; I’m sure they would have done the same were they in my circumstance.
Eventually it crawled back into the radiator, where I could see it nestled between the coils. For a brief, mad, midsummer’s moment, I almost wished the radiator would turn on and kill the mouse by heat. So much vehemence. I blame the heat.
But then I realise sane people probably get rid of mice in their apartment with traps. So, to prevent the mouse from escaping to a place out of my knowledge, I proceeded to erect a fortress around the radiator, hoping to trap it in so that I may buy some time to buy some traps tomorrow. Here’s a schematic of the situation.
The image above shows the path the mouse took, and what I did to trap the mouse. Such tactics! Such strategy! Ballads shall be sung in my honour and my excellent exploits shall ring for all posterity.
The mouse wasn’t in the radiator the next morning when I woke up. Screw the fortress. I left the house to go buy some traps.
The Hexacoto 