PoliTricks or Parlor Tricks?

**This is my first official Reprint, something I won't be making a habit of. As this is timely for the moment, I thought I might put it out there for the world outside of my little piece of paradise**

Morty 10/08


Here we are already in the fall of 2008 with another presidential election looming on the horizon.
WAIT!
I know what you’re thinking, but before you turn the page let me take a moment and happily plagiarize myself. Take a journey back in time with me to just over a year ago. Forest Hills Celebrity & Entertainment has just reached its one-year milestone. On page twenty-two, a guy who reluctantly goes by the name of Morty introduces himself in his very first magazine column, making a promise (similar to that of your run of the mill politician) to “keep this space lighthearted, a place of refuge…would rather not discuss politics.”
I still adhere to that, steadfastly ignoring the inundation of radio, print and TV ads during this otherwise pleasant time of year. Recently however, I came across an article that inadvertently caught my attention.
Pet owners prefer McCain over Obama.
WHAT!?
Is this all it takes nowadays to reach the coveted top rung of the ladder?
Doesn’t anyone recall our days of yore when a parent’s greatest aspiration was to see his or her child strive for the presidency?
“Do all of your homework and study hard or you’ll never become President,” was the common threat.
Did any kid really dream of actually being President one day? No one in my close-knit circle of friends ever had. This begs the question, what kind of circles do you have to travel in to meet someone with such purposeful ambition? The names, Biff and Muffy come immediately to mind.
All right, that’s a grossly unfair cliché, but I just couldn’t resist.
When did being a pet owner become some kind of presidential prerequisite? I would think that being a parent might hold a bit more presidential precedence.
Are there different levels pertaining to presidential pet ownership?
Does your dog obey?
Can he do tricks, catch a Frisbee?
Maybe that’s a bit too Democratic. Let’s try something Republican.
Does he fetch your slippers, get the paper?
Is there some type of presidential pet chain of command?
Would a dog owner make a better leader than a cat lover? Dogs take more work to train and require constant companionship, while cats are more independent.
Fish don’t count!
A close friend of mine used to drop a line into his five-gallon aquarium to see if they would bite.
They didn’t. Tropical fish are above that.
He wouldn’t have made a good president.
I was once a pet owner! Do hamsters count?
I’ve gone through four in recent years. Teddy, my first guy was of the longhaired Teddy Bear variety.
I know.
The name wasn’t very original.
He used to love to eat Fruit Loops, Frosted Flakes and other high Sugar content cereals. It broke my heart when his two-year lifespan came to an abrupt end in just under six months. Raising pets is a learning process, something I’ve since mastered. As a result, Teddy’s successor’s fared just fine.
I’m also the proud parent of a five-year-old son.
I know; kids don’t count!
He doesn’t want to be president, which is a shame. Recently elected Student of the Day at school, he’s off to such a promising start. Local residents may have seen his picture hanging in Starbucks where he was Customer of the Month at the age of four.
Apparently, raising children is also a learning process.
I could never be President.
To begin with, I’m just not old enough. I also don’t own a real suit, and just barely get by tying a tie.
I’m an exceptionally fussy eater, which could prove problematic while traveling abroad.
I can’t dance.
In the past, it would usually take a good number of drinks to get me anywhere near the dreaded wood floor. I shudder to think how the media might treat this. I can see my picture splashed across the front page in my faux-suit and crooked tie, eyes bloodshot from just enough champagne flutes to get me in position for an old-fashioned high society waltz. I have no business at such formal affairs. I have no clue where the salad fork belongs in the scheme of things, or which fork is actually the salad fork to begin with. I don’t like salad anyway. I can, however eat meat AND potatoes with the same fork!
I have a record.
I don’t know how far back they go with these background checks, but my Second Grade trip to the Principal’s office would certainly not bode well.
I have lousy handwriting, and an even worse signature. I can almost hear the congressional snickering every time a bill would require my John Hancock.
Finally, relocation to the D.C. area is just not an option. Both my wife and I have decent jobs here, and are relatively content in the cramped little space we call home. She recently acquired her driver’s license and thoroughly enjoys getting behind the wheel. A demotion to passenger status in the back of a stretch limo would probably make her crazy. I tend to defer to her, as she is the primary decision maker in our house, similar to that of ex President…
Whoa!
I almost went back on my original promise right there (similar to your run of the mill politician). I’ll quit now while I’m ahead, and spare you my political views, except one. Should I accidentally indulge in a few too many champagne flutes this New Year’s Eve; resulting in the appearance of my name on some future political ballot somewhere, ignore it.
At least until I’ve been upgraded to dog owner status!

Blogging: Small Fish in the World's Largest Pond

WOW!
There's hope for us small town blogger's after all.
Recently I had the great pleasure of reading a feature article in Long Island's Newsday relating the tale of a local blogger. longislanddailyphoto.blogspot.com opens a small window allowing the rest of the world to come inside and experience a piece of everyday life, one photo at a time, as seen through the eyes of an average long islander. She was inspired by a similar blog highlighting the sights of Paris in much the same way. I've always maintained that the simplest ideas are most often the best ones, and applaud all of the daily photo blogger's for allowing us a brief moment to step into their shoes and take a brief look around. As I tend to be a little long winded at times, this type of daily blogging would never work for me, so I've decided to treat this particular entry more like a book report; something I haven't done since the days of my youth. Feel free to comment or simply grade me from "A" through "F." Hopefully no one has screwed up the Bell Curve.

My Neighborhood, by Morty.
Yes, the above link would be considered blatant plagiarism, so consider it footnoted. In an effort to stem my longwindedness, I figured I would send you there first. Now, on to business.
I was born and bred roughly eight miles east Forest Hills in nearby Nassau County on Long Island proper. The borough of Queens, while physically a part of Long Island is considered more often than not, by its residents as part of New York City. My earliest impressions of Queens echoed that of the locals. It's a far cry from the more relaxed, spread out, greener pastures (in the literal sense) of Long Island. A major percentage of the Five Boro's consists of pavement, high rise apartment buildings, major thoroughfares, gridlock, noise, parking meters, and a lack of parking spaces. Add to that, Alternate Side of the Street Parking. Twice a week on alternating days, drivers are forced to find suitable parking elsewhere as one side of the street is off limits to make room for the street sweeping trucks. My non-expert opinion as a casual, often frustrated bystander is that these trucks do nothing more than throw up dust while moving the dirt around.

My son gets a kick out of them though.
I had a rather large number of stipulations when it came to moving from the peace and quiet of the suburbs, a realtor's real nightmare. I wanted an apartment in a private house as opposed to high rise, and did not want to live on any street named with a number.
That's a tall order!
During the late summer of 1993, My significant other found said apartment without the help of anyone in the Real Estate industry. The only thing I'd known of Forest Hills was that it was one of the more sought after areas in this borough to lay down some roots, be them temporary or permanent. There's also a certain stigma attached to it that raises some eyebrows. Whenever I'm working with clients and the availability for small talk arises, the second I mention Forest Hills, their immediate reaction is,
"Wow, you must be doing really well."
"No, no," I correct them. "I walk through that neighborhood to get to mine."
The Gardens is one of the premiere exclusive neighborhoods in the borough of Queens. Its cobblestone streets and Tudor style homes give it a real European flair, at least the way I picture Europe based on what I've seen in say, James Bond and Pink Panther movies. I love to meander through the quiet tree lined streets, where parking is abundant and the noise of typical general traffic mayhem is considerably muted. There are actually plenty of buses, subways, and commuter rails that pass straight through the heart of town, which unbelievably is not more than a few blocks from this tranquil neighborhood, making for a short, trouble free commute to Manhattan. The main line of the Long Island Railroad slices through it's center. The dividing line it creates provides clear indication of the contradiction that is Forest Hills. Immediately south is the aforementioned upper income community of The Garden's. To the north lies Austin Street, the hub of Forest Hills, both for transportation and shopping. Beyond that lies Queens Boulevard, probably the busiest thoroughfare in the borough, followed by a high concentration of apartment buildings; essentially the more conventional Queens.
Pulling in or out of the Forest Hills train station, one cannot help but notice the hint of grandeur that once was. Mere steps to the south, the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium; the original home of the U.S. Open still stands. It's place in the music world is equally impressive, hosting such greats as The Beatles, Frank Sinatra, The Who, and Diana Ross. If memory serves, Hall and Oates may have passed through there as well. Majestic from a distance, it's crumbling facade upon closer inspection is sad. The last event that I can remember taking place there was a Phish concert in the mid-nineties. I may be speaking out of turn here as this is only based on my observations walking home at the end of a long work week, but the mildly unruly crowd wandering the streets with open beer containers, loudly complaining about the lack of parking most likely proved too much for the locals whom I am sure had some kind of hand in putting an end to such events. I for one would love to see this landmark put to use again. I'm sure that if I were to do a bit more research I'd find some type of preservation committee standing firm on leaving this iconic structure intact. In the meantime, it just seems to be a waste of some prime real estate.
Meandering further south on the quest to reach my neighborhood, the landscape begins to change. Nearly as drastic as the Long Island Railroad dividing line, is the razor sharp property line that signals the change from exclusivity to everyday. The middle income homes here are textbook old school Queens! Take a look at the opening sequences of television's King of Queens, or the classic All in the Family and you can see first hand exactly what I'm talking about. In fact, the exterior shot of the Archie Bunker home is literally just across the Forest Hills border, residing in the town of Glendale. Just a few blocks shy of this border is the area that I call home. The Long Island Railroad plays an important part here as well, both in its history and in the beautiful almost country-like serenity left in its wake. This was the major selling point in my relocating from suburb to borough. The former Rockaway Beach Branch; discontinued in the early 1960's now provides a beautiful buffer zone separating this neighborhood from the traffic and congestion on nearby Woodhaven Boulevard; another major thoroughfare. Our first order of business after settling in was to take a walk on those long abandoned tracks to explore a piece of Queens history that not a lot of people get to see, or may even know exists for that matter. Here we see the rusted remains of a set of stairs that at one time must have led to a long gone station platform.
The view from the rear of our home is idyllic. In the early days, my wife and I could often be found sitting outside at night, sipping wine as we listened to the rustling of the trees, looking to the night sky at the twinkling lights of stars while planes silently soared high overhead. In the morning, we would enjoy coffee back there, or spend some quality reading time together. The freshly fallen snow from the occasional winter storm would almost provide a Norman Rockwell like scene.
Recently, we acquired a new neighbor in the house next door who has put to good use the land behind his home, making for the perfect summer getaway without actually going anywhere. I hear there is talk these days of turning this area in to parkland, creating a Greenway here for biking, jogging, walking, or simply enjoying nature.

One of my closest companions in High School was a girl who had two great loves in her early life; horseback riding, and country music, one of the two which has rubbed off on me. I owe my love of country music primarily to my father who during our teen years always had 1050 WHN-AM on the car radio, making the unlikely pairing of Lisa and I as friends not so unlikely at all. I fondly remember coming to the end of the winter months when she would begin the countdown of days leading to her getting back in the saddle again (no pun intended). She would often try to coerce me into joining her, but there was something about the unfamiliarity of climbing on an animal many times my size and putting my trust in it's comfort with having me there. I was far more comfortable in the seat of a roller coaster, no matter what the size! Horseback riding probably would never have crossed my mind again, yet herein for me lies the greatest contradiction that is Forest Hills. This is such a far cry from the Union Turnpike that I remember as a kid, and that was at its eastern end in Nassau County Long Island! I've always had the dream of one day living in the country, waking up to the peaceful sounds of nature, living life at a pace that is somewhat slower than the frenetic one that New York City and it's outlying boroughs are known for. Pictured here is the entrance to Forest Park. There's a beautifully quaint playground here that abuts the entrance to the bridle path, and a working line of the Long Island Railroad most often used for freight trains. My son and I enjoy walking along the fence, each with our own nature supplied walking sticks, reminding him of a past trip to Vermont, while allowing me to lose myself in the dream of living in the country. If the quiet piece of land that borders the rear of our dwelling wasn't enough, the scene of horses trotting in and out of the park while a freight train lazily lumbers past is pure country paradise!

Development is important to the growth and well being of any community, a bland statement, I know. While paradise is often not more than a few steps away, there were certainly a few blemishes to mar this otherwise near perfect picture. The long unused, dilapidated buildings that once bordered the nearby intersection of Woodhaven Boulevard and Metropolitan Avenue are now thriving businesses. The recent additions of Staples, Sports Authority, Home Depot, and Trader Joe's are encouraging. I'm sure it's caused a bit of consternation for the long established small guy who 0nce dominated these parts, but sadly, this is the downside of progress. Another downside here is traffic! While I'm all for progress and development, the recent influx of shoppers has turned this place into a congestion nightmare. I don't know who plans the traffic studies to see how it may affect the community, but the individuals in charge of this one have failed miserably. Talk about screwing up the Bell Curve! Further development continues in this area on a piece of property that was truly a long decaying wasteland, overgrown with weeds and grass. This however is progress of the most positive kind! I can only guess at what it may do to the traffic patterns here, but the opportunity to have my son attend school in a brand new building, only a couple of blocks from home would make it worth the aggravation.

So, long story short?

In the eyes of my five year old son, there's magic here. Every community has its share of problems. I've very lightly touched on the rare few that really irk me, but this community, while not perfect is the place that I call home. I've seen a lot of changes since the day I gave up my suburban roots, most of them positive. I would love to hear and learn more about the Forest Hills that was, but not from a book (remember those?) or the Internet. I openly invite anyone to comment here or contact me. I'm a great listener. Besides, a few more visitors on this site would also be considered progress of the most positive kind, with the hope that one day I may be a slightly larger fish in this enormous pond.