No Alternative: NYC's Passion for the Garbage Cans

My pal, Skater Bob, and I met on St Marks Place when St Marks was rad. Well, in all honesty, I missed out on the true radness of the artsy punk rock East Village era, but this meeting took place four years ago, and St Marks was a hell of a lot radder then than it is now.

I used to pass this dude on the sidewalk in the exact same spot (his "office")--just in front of the deli (near the sneaker shop and across from Trash & Vaudeville), which is now some sort of shitty jewelry store--almost every day. He would be sitting on his skateboard writing in his journal, or talking with one of many other East Villagers who knew him. One day, my 20-year-old, gusty self gathered the courage to approach him, and when I say we instantly became buds, it's not just to be cutesy. We hung out all of the time thereafter, sharing the same twisted love for all of the idiosyncrasies that make NYC heart-wrenchingly perfect: from hanging with squatters in Tompkins Square, to following the rats in (r.i.p.) Washington Square, to observing fire hula-hoopers and radicals with megaphones in Union Square.

Bob was older than I initially assumed...just old enough to have been able to partake in the truly nitty-gritty party scene of NYC'S not-too-distant past. He used to hang out at the Limelight, when Michael Alig ran the show, the BatCave, in all of its gothic glory, and The Building (whatever that was!). As a skateboarder, he used to skate down at the World Trade Center. As a music fan, he used to frequent CBGB's, Coney Island High, The Pyramid Club, and other defunct clubs (The Pyramid isn't dead, but Iggy Pop certainly doesn't play there anymore). He even saw Nirvana for free. I missed out on all of the rusty, grimy, dangers of former NYC, but I tried to make the most of my wanderings with Bob, others, or by myself..meeting and subsequently losing interest in a cast of eccentrics, from hari krishnas to squatters to old punks to goths to foreigners to the manager of Mindless Self Indulgence. But, you know, always with caution ;)

A couple of years after meeting Bob, I became an employee of the illustrious St Marks I so admired. I worked at Kim's Video, a testament to the downtown artistic underground culture, but sadly, this legendary business, specializing in cult, experimental, foreign, vintage, sexploitation, documentary, or otherwise hard-to-find videos for sale and rent, not to mention the vast amount of records and albums (with categories differientating "the establishment" from "independent," and with everything from John Cage to '60s pysch-rock to Krautrock to noise, you name it), is rumored (from an inside source) to be relocating to 11th Street and 3rd Avenue, or some location nearby.
For Mr. Kim to abandon the current Kim's Video building, which used to be The St Marks Bathhouse, a famous place for gay men and, unfortunately, an accidental contributor to the AIDS crisis of the '80s, is sacrilegious to me! St Marks is fast becoming just another strip of cheap-o quickie-food joints (like The Automat, ew!). Religious Sex: gone. Freaks: gone. Coney Island High: long long gone. And, do we really need a CBGB commemorative store, for God's sake? Does the world need Hot Chick, or another hot dog place? I fear in my bones that it won't be long before St. Marks Comics, Andromeda (no matter how much I hate those dudes flicking their fliers at me), Search & Destroy, Trash & Vaudeville, or the sneaker customization shop head out too. And, I wonder, in a cleaner, prissier, pricier, gentrified, fratboy-centered NYC that doesn't regard its own history, does anyone even care?
I'd like to think they do care. I'd like to think that people don't want to spend their lives cooped up in bars, listening to bad music and making even worse conversation. I'd like to think that people need places like St Marks or Washington Square Park, which is also being destroyed..I mean, revamped. As the city clamps down on crime, or whatever else they seem to be doing, they are destroying the places of free thought, artistic expression, and the places where one can simply exist without the construct of a bar and a bad DJ...the places that make New York unique. When we (non-NYU'ers, sorry!) can no longer sit in the WSP fountain until 4 am or roam St Marks for that ideal trashy/vintage T-shirt, video, or import CD, than NYC as we once knew it (some, like Skater Bob, better than others) is as dead as punk rock.

With all of this said, back to my initial meeting with Bob. He's really into writing personal journals, as well as stories and letters to skating and music magazines. He gave me a hand-written story (one among several) that he wanted me to type for him, and here I am, four years later, including it in my column, because, somehow, it relates to the ridiculously depraved and rambunctious NYC that, when observed, is both a comfort and a horror....even though it's about suburban New Jersey. Well, whatever!

ALSO, a little plug for NormalBobSmith.com
(another Bob, friend of Skater Bob)...Check out his Amazing Strangers column for an interesting display of Union Square regulars.

And now I present to you, Passion for the Garbage Cans, by Skater Bob (typed up and mildly edited by yours truly)

Even though convenience stores have different names, they're usually arranged the same way and sell the same items (7-11, Quick Check, Wawa). In most suburban towns, the convenience stores are usually the towns’ local hot spot. Kids usually hang out front drinking their Slurpies, blue collar workers stop by to get their coffee and cigarettes and the bums usually hold the doors for the customers so they can get some money for booze (Check out Kevin Smith’s movie, Clerks). Outside the store, usually at each end, you will see two garbage cans on both sides of the store and maybe one pay phone. The garbage cans are usually square with semi-lids on them. To get the garbage inside, you have to go to the upper side angle to get it in. From my experience over the years, hanging out at 7-11 and Quick Check, I have come to notice that people have a real passion for hanging out next to the garbage cans. If it’s two people (usually bums) one will stand on the right-hand side while the other stands on the left-hand side of the garbage and they both rest their elbows on top of the garbage can and talk amongst themselves. Early in the morning, you will see a blue collar worker resting their coffee on top of the garbage can waiting for their ride. Usually the top of the garbage can is where they put their coffee while resting one elbow on top. No matter where I go or what convenience store I go to it’s usually the same shit that I cannot avoid.

People hanging out next to the garbage can. I see this way too often and it makes me wonder what the fuck are these assholes thinking hanging out next to the garbage can? Maybe they have it set in their small minds that this garbage can is their office? I cannot understand why anyone would want to stand next to something that smells like piss, shit and vomit. I guess they don't realize coffee cups and cigarettes wrappers are not the only items that go into the garbage can. Meanwhile, someone is pissing on the garbage can or someone else has their head sticking inside puking their guts away. Meanwhile, the following day, you will see someone having their breakfast buffet on top of it. I will never forget that day my ex-girlfriend was waiting for me by the garbage can with my fucking coffee resting on top of it. Seeing that shit really gave me second thoughts about her. Seeing her do that to me made me realize that life was never going to be easy for me. I kept asking myself over and over again: what are people’s obsession with this garbage can? When I saw her doing that to me I almost had a nervous breakdown. My therapy for myself when I see people next to the garbage can is to make fun of them.

Well anyway, not too long ago, I ran into my teen idol Uncle Floyd. I have seen many famous people in my life but not once have I ever been star struck until I saw the Uncle. Most of you probably don't even know who Uncle Floyd is. Uncle Floyd used to have a show on channel 50 New Jersey network. It was on in the early 80s. He would wear a plaid hat and a plaid shirt and sing funny songs about New Jersey and fat chicks. Uncle Floyd was the Mr. Rogers for old people who understood where he was coming from. He had his own puppet that was a clown named Oggie. I used to watch his show every day right before Dark Shadows would come on. He was a memory until I ran into him at the street fest. He performed for the town of Ridgewood, New Jersey. When he played his piano I made sure that my girlfriend and I were right behind him sitting on the curb, showing him our support. Most of the people that watched him were old bags. He did his performance and ran out of there because he had a gig in Nyack, NY. I saw him almost running up the street and I screamed out his name and when he looked at me, I told him that he was my hero and I needed his autograph. He tells me to make it quick because he had to go. So I tell him to sign it to the best skateboarder, Bob. I give him my paper and pen and his eyes are beaming out of his head looking around. I thought the mafia was looking to whack him by the way he was acting. He goes to the corner, maybe three feet away, and looks at the garbage can, leans on it and starts to write on the paper. I was really disappointed to see that. If the guy had some kind of class he would of used my back to sign the paper. I look behind him and there is a line of old bags waiting to get his autograph, asking him questions all at one time. I walk away in shame for the guy. I turn around one more time to get a glimpse of him; he has one elbow resting on top of the garbage can, talking to his pitiful fan like he is some kind of famous rockstar. Rockstars don't have garbage cans as their offices. Seeing that made me realize that my teenage idol is no better than a bum at the 7-11. What a big disappointment.

 

love (buzz), alternative amy.

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