Dear Readers,

Instead of my usual Hot Sheet of commentary, today I’m providing an entry from my personal journal for your perusal. The entry details my experiences earlier this year during a layover in Queens, New York. It is my hope you’ll find this journal entry to be interesting reading for one or both of the following reasons:

(1) If you’ve never been to Queens, you may find it educational.

(2) In the entry, I reevaluate my once-great disgust for the city.

Please excuse the lack of refinement in the writing itself. The following entry was written by hand on an airplane and is unedited, save for the excising of all names. Goodnight.

Your Theocrat,

$

MAY 8, 2004 – QUEENS

I’ve no particular love for New York City in general. It’s a beautiful testament to Capitalism’s power – each skyscraper represents a handshake, an agreement between the most capable of men to enter into an undertaking which will mutually benefit – and I admire a number of its former leaders, most recent among them Rudy Giulani, the mayor who decimated the abhorrent crime rate for which New York City was once famous. But despite the apparently fertile ground of the metropolis for well-governed, liberal wealth, the city is possessed of an obscene housing shortage (and also housing and living costs), due to its gullible populace’s support of rent controls and the politicians who hawk them, an oppressive tax burden, competition-strangling regulations designed to protect the power of entrenched companies, and an elitist, permeable sense of self-importance. The close-minded thinking of the New York City electorate usually results in a willingness to continue the practice of whatever destructive policy it favors until, as in the case of the city’s former crime rate, the results are seriously debilitating (Giulani was much-maligned for his “conservative” credentials and was elected in large part by desperation). This is, of course, only my opinion, but then, it is also my journal (and historical evidence supports me).

Having made so manny inflammatory statements concerning the City That Never Sleeps and its populace: My Song flight landed and my father, his wife, and I disembarked approximately 12:15 EST, at John F. Kennedy Airport. I proceeded to spend five hours in Queens (one of New York City’s “five burroughs”, if you will, the other four being Harlem, Manhattan, Brooklyn, and the Bronx) and, by the end of my short visit, found myself thoroughly charmed.

I’ve made a mistake, I think. As prior to my visit today I had only visited Manhattan, the most well-known, publicized part of the city and the source of many of the negatives I’ve mentioned, I mistook Manhattan for New York City itself. This is of course foolish, on par with mistaking, to borrow an odious set of terms from Marx, the Bourgeoise for the Proletariat. The men and women I saw in Queens, while guilty of Ignorance and Naivete that facilitates their economic oppression, are not haughty elitists. They are honest clerks, cooks, repairmen, drivers, and sculptors interested in providing livelihoods for themselves and their families, willing to perform any task for such a simple (very American) goal. They are the diverse face of America’s prosperity. What befuddles me now concerning previous thoughts of mine is what anger I’ve felt toward them for their mistakes (I’m an absolutist and I don’t soften my words; they are mistakes). But who do these mistakes harm? Largely just themselves. And that is not a cause for Anger. It’s a cause for Education.

Details on my visit to Queens, anyway: First, be careful of your proximity to certain open fish markets. My father’s wife actually gagged involuntarily when she breathed in the powerful odor emanating from the market’s wares (I had no such problem since my nose was too congested to smell anything). I’m sure one can easily adapt to the aroma, but those unaccustomed should at least brace themselves.

I will never again assume any depiction of Queens accurate wherein the ratio of Caucasians to darker-skinned peoples is any greater than 1:200. During my stroll up and down Lefferty and Liberty, I perhaps saw ten individuals at most who were light of skin; I saw far more than that number who wore turbans and sported white, full beards accentuated by chocolate skin.

While I did notice American mainstays of the restaurant industry, such as “McDonald’s” and “Burger King”, many of the restaurants along the streets serve ethnic cuisine. Traditional dishes of Trinidad, Guyana, West India, Pakistan, Uzbekistan (but I’ll have my fill of that soon enough), and God knows how many other countries and regions are all available for sale. Dresses, statues, and baubbles of said countries, too.

The main street vendors I noticed specialized in Produce, but I also saw a fortune teller, a flute player (enjoy his music? Put a little money in his hat), Hare Krishna follower (selling books on vegetarian recipes for his temple), and drug dealer. A defining if not fully unique aspect of Liberty (the market street in Queens, not the concept) is the airtrain suspended over it by green girders.

I didn’t purchase any souvenirs at the shops, but Dad, his wife, and I did have lunch at one of the aforementioned ethnic restaurants, a small diner specializing in “roti.” The roti was a double-blessing. Not only was the spice-filled bread filling and delicious, but it served to help reopen my nasal passages. The meal hails from Trinidad and Tobago in the Carribbean Sea. The bread is paired (at least in the diner we patronized) with chickpeas, a meat (beef, shrimp, or chicken), and a potato mash. No silverware was provided; it’s all finger food, with the bread serving as a glove for your fingers as you eat.

On my visit to Queens I also confirmed a stereotype’s accuracy: New York City cab drivers are either totally oblivious to the welfare of themselves and their passengers, hoping to become NASCAR drivers and practicing for that role, or they know something we don’t, such as that a bomb will go off if the taxi’s speed falls below 50 MPH. But taxi drivers in NYC are unimpressive in comparison to NYC’s bus drivers. Keanu Reeves was a wuss. Armed with a cool aplomb the likes of which put James Bond’s nerves to shame, my bus driver on the “Green Line” Q10 led myself and my fellow passengers careening through the streets of Queens on a course seemingly irrespective of streetlights, stop signs, and the concept of a lane. The man at that wheel, who’s name I would not be surprised to learn is “Mario Andretti,” was a master of his craft.

Taxi and bus drivers in NYC also apparently really are ethnically Italian, overweight, and possessed of very strong accents, at least when they are not barely understandable immigrants apparently “fresh off the boat” (or airplane, whatever). Which reminds me of a poster, the only one of its kind I’ve ever seen, I noticed in Queens stapled to/glued onto a pole, advertising as follows: “Become a U.S. Citizen! Benefits: Better job opportunities! And you can’t be deported!” I thought this was almost as hilarious as a news story I read earlier, declaring a lawsuit for alleged racial discrimination against Black people at a chain of restaurants named “Cracker Barrel” (if you don’t get what’s funny about that, I’m sure not explaining).

Time to conclude this entry. I’m airborne again on Delta Flight 72, crossing the Atlantic Ocean. We’ll be flying over ireland and Continental Europe to land in Turkey’s capital city of Istanbul, unless of course we crash into the sea (sorry to be so negative. We’re hitting lots of turbulence as I try to finish this dang page). A ten-hour ride on a comfortable, first-class seat. Not a problem for a veteran of Mom’s car trips.

END OF ENTRY