The old Catskills town, once the capital of the mountains, has changed and is changing still. No village or hamlet in the mountains has changed more, has seen its crime rate spiral higher, has a greater sense of desolation when driving down its Broadway, past the boarded-up Rialto. Who could have imagined, long ago, that our Bedford Falls could turn into Pottersville?
From Obama to Tel Aviv to the New Yorker’s legendary ‘New Yorkistan’ cover,
the brainy Israeli-born painter/writer/blogger explores modern life.
When Barack Obama won the presidency, Maira Kalman was thrilled. It was not only a fresh start for America, she thought, but one for her own work as well: The New York Times was looking for another assignment for Kalman after her wildly successful illustrated blog, “The Principles of Uncertainty,” which documented her own life, debuted in 2006.
Monday, November 2nd, 2009
There’s nothing more predictable than politicians (and their followers) saying “my opponent is playing to people’s fears,” as if that disccredits the reason people are afraid in the first place. Opponents of William Thompson have warned that if elected this Democrat might turn New York back into the Fort Apache anarchy of the David Dinkins years, or into the Detroit or Newark of this year.
It was billed as “three days of peace and music,” and there was plenty of both.
But the sprawling musical adventure at Woodstock also had a dark side.
Some Sullivan County residents who never much liked the infusion of Jews and other city slickers were even less enamored of the throngs of hippies that flooded the region 40 years ago.
And they didn’t keep it to themselves, recalls Michael Hill Goldstein, whose family had a hotel next to Max Yasgur’s Bethel farm, site of the concert.
Wednesday, August 26th, 2009
“Them shiney gold coins
Sure looked bright and jolly
I took the money home and I gave it to my Molly.
She promised and she swore that she never would deceive me
But the devil’s in the women and they never can be easy
Musha rigum duram da
Whack-fo the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar.”
– Irish folk tune
Our little bungalow in the Catskills isn’t much. A scarce one-bedroom dwelling with a shared porch, a single air-conditioner that only serves its purpose when the temperature is below 90, a circa-70s kitchen that doubles as the second bedroom and a bathroom that is probably better left undescribed. It seems to be a highly recommended tourist destination for flies and ants.