White Winter Hymnal

Don't you worry, there's no sermon in the sentences ahead.  It's simply the name of a song by Fleet Foxes, one that comes to my mind every time I see snow falling these days.  Have you heard it before?  If not, do listen.

We had a snowfall a few days back, nothing much by the standards of upstate.  It was enough, though, to give the Stockade that thin white blanket that makes one say, "Ah, Winter.  There you are."  I had just arrived back home, and luckily I had brought my camera out with me.  There was no time to stop inside, down the street I went.  

There wasn't a pattern to where I walked, it became a trip where each intersection was a new decision.  Exponential options, each turn more picturesque than the next.  As the sun went down, the houses loomed larger, the shadows stretched, and the Stockade took on a much older feel.  It wasn't hard to imagine you were strolling through another time.  As we watch Schenectady grow and develop in this new century, it's comforting to know that we still have roots planted in the past.  A community that cherishes where it's come from, as well as where it's going.  A respect, and a foundation. 

I'm hoping you enjoy these photos, thank you for reading.

Mike's Hot Dogs

"The most useless are those that never change throughout the years."  This little pearl of arrogant wisdom comes to us today from Sir J.M. Barrie.  For those of you who may not recognize the name right off the bat, you'll certainly know his most famous work.  He's the writer of Peter Pan, that prepubescent Robin Hood mixed with a dash of the ageless Dick Clark for good measure.   It's a tad ironic, I suppose, that he was the one to have uttered this phrase.  He would have held his tongue I'm sure, if he had ever been to Mike's Hot Dogs.

The sign above the door says "Serving you for over 50 years," although our server stated that it's already passed by sixty.  And though I can imagine the windows out onto Erie Boulevard have seen Schenectady change dramatically over those six decades, I have a feeling the menu inside hasn't varied much, if at all.  And you know what?  It would be a crying shame if it had.

As we witness the return of the classic Americana in fashion, music, all the nostalgia of yesteryear, why not take a moment to check out a place that never left?  More and more restaurants today are trying to emulate the feeling of the classic diner, that warm-blanket familiarity you get sitting down at the counter of a proper greasy spoon.  It's tough to rationalize going to an imitation, when the real thing is just down the road.

"All the Way"

"Do you want to go all the way?" she asked.  My hands go clammy. My tongue dries up. I stutter over my words.  It's not often I'm asked this question in public.  In fact, it's not often I'm asked this question, full stop.  I muster up my courage, and look deep into her eyes.  "Absolutely.  I'll take a chocolate shake as well."  There, my order was in.  I've been hearing rumors of the "All the Way" hot dog here, but it must be seen to be believed.  Mustard, onions, meat sauce, and pure joy heaped on top of a hot dog.  Is there a quicker route to bliss?  The answer is yes, and it involves washing it all down with that chocolate shake I ordered.  

You sit there and devour your meal, served up in no time flat.  You think, if only I could somehow eat here three meals a day, I may finally achieve lasting peace in my life.  And then you see it; the breakfast menu perched above either end of the long counter.  And the deals just keep on coming.  Breakfast sandwiches, eggs, bacon, the things that make America great.  It's simple, it's cheap, and it's all you ever need.  You contemplate asking to set up a cot in the storage room, why leave? Admit it, it was on your mind too.  

 In this day and age, I think we're all aware of what's in a hot dog.  Or maybe it's that we're aware that we're unaware what's in a hot dog.  Follow me?  At the end of the day, a hot dog works for people on any diet.  Even vegans!  Let's admit it, there's probably not a whole bunch of any recognizable animal product in a hot dog these days.  But that doesn't matter folks!  Where else can you buy bliss for a buck seventy-nine?  You can't.  Fact.

 I know many of you readers have driven by this place on at least one occasion, and pulling off Erie at any time of day can be a daunting task.  But the next time you see it coming up ahead, make the turn.  I'm very lucky, as I live quite literally around the corner.  It's busy, really busy, most of the day.  Our waitress told us that the hardest times were when it was slow.  She said she just ended up eating the food there.  I told her I couldn't think of a better way to pass the time.

As for passing your own time, dear reader, I hope that you've got a great weekend ahead.  Try to make Mike's a part of it.  As always, thank you for reading!

Walkabout

Walk·a·bout 

n.

1. Australian A temporary return to traditional Aboriginal life, taken especially between periods of work or residence in modern society and usually involving a period of travel through the bush.

2. A walking trip.

3. Chiefly British A public stroll taken by an important person, such as a monarch, among a group of people for greeting and conversation.

I'll let you, dear reader, decide which for yourself.   

 

The Happy Cappuccino

      I'm no addict.  I don't need a cup of coffee in the morning to pry open my eyelids. When the coffee grounds run out, I don't exclaim it in the same tone I'd use if I had accidentally shot my own grandmother.  But even I will admit there are few things that surpass a good cuppa at ten in the morning.  Mila Kunis is one.  Actually, let's just leave the list at that.

     I consider myself one of the luckiest people on earth, mainly because I have never had a bad-barista experience, or B.B.E.  This is a serious topic that scientists and our government secretly put an enormous amount of time and money into studying, along with five-star restaurants, Obama's birth certificate, and various 900 numbers.  Even the military has realized the applications. Imagine, an entire enemy force immobilized for days with frustration and angst because they were corrected for saying "large" instead of "grande" in front of other customers.  The mere thought is terrifying. 

    

I've always had happy people make coffee for me, which only makes sense when you think about the nature of coffeehouses.  A social recluse is not going to start a business that requires talking to the widest possible demographic spectrum.  Coffee does not discriminate, which is why it should be on the table at every U.N. meeting.  Also, beer might be a good idea.  Can you imagine?

Russia: "Hey, U.S.A!  If you and Portugal hold China's legs up for the keg stand, we'll sign the nuclear disarmament treaty."

U.S.A: "Okay, but he's got to hit at least twenty seconds.  France surrendered after five.  Typical."

I digress.  The point I'm poorly trying to make is: There's usually a good vibe at any small coffeehouse, so how do you find one that stands above the rest?  Where's the one that adds a little bit more bang for the buck?  Can you do a keg stand with an espresso machine? 

Start at The Happy Cappuccino.  Having opened their doors at the end of September just past, they're a very welcome addition to Jay Street.  You can't miss the location; it's the one with all the passers-by staring unabashedly through the windows.  Sitting just off the corner of Jay and State, it's got a shop front that lets the sunlight pour in.  It's prime real estate for people watching and paper reading, my two activities of choice on any given morning.  If you're in the mood for something a bit more cave-like, just swing around to the far room and plop yourself down on the couch.  In the far corner you'll see some microphone stands, a lone amp and a stool.  On Thursday nights this place becomes home to some great local musicians on an open mic.  Come by around 7:30 and use it as an evening warm-up before trivia at Bombers or Pinheads.  It's one of those formulas for a great night that works every time.  Just don't try to keg stand the espresso machine. 

Feel like playing  a a bit of chess?   They've got that covered too.  A board sits in the corner at the furthest window, just begging to be used.  I spent most of this summer debating the public sex appeal of chess, there were two of us maintaining that women should swoon over the mere idea of men using their brains.  In the end, we lost that debate.  Bobby Fischer was a lot of things folks, but a ladies man he was not.  C'est la vie.  That said, I maintain the following: I would propose, on the spot, to any woman I saw playing a game of chess in a coffee shop.  The same goes for football.  Not in a coffee shop though.  On a field.  Or in a department store. 

When you stop in, you'll get to meet Matt, Heather or Billy behind the counter.  These three have their act solidly together, and the drinks they serve up are top shelf.  And it doesn't stop with what's printed on the menu dear reader.  Four of us stopped by after last Sunday's Greenmarket, when the temperature was hovering around absolute zero, and a warm drink was the only way forward.  Billy sorted us out.  I've met some very cool baristi in my time, but Billy takes the prize.  I've honestly never had so much care put into finding what kind of drink I was looking for.  We're talking perfect custom creations here, like an ace bartender making a proper Manhattan.  Andrew came looking for a simple hot cocoa.  With the slightest suggestion, he ended up holding the creation below.  Hints of hazelnut if I remember right, with a bangin' strong dose of chocolate.  Win.

Go Giants and Hot Chocolate!

 If you've already been here, then you know what I'm talking about, and you know it's only a matter of time before you find yourself in here again.  There are some small vices in this world which are well deserved.  Coffee is one of those.  Justin Bieber is not.  So if you're walking down Jay Street and spot this sign, drop in for a few minutes.  If you've already passed it, turn around.  I'd bet it will be the first of many a visit.

A Stranger in a Familiar Land

The phrase "let's go hang out in Schenectady" was never used much growing up, by myself or my friends.  I suppose it seemed to us, at the time, kind of like saying "let's go hang out under a bridge.  Or at Chernobyl."  In our minds, it was a post-industrial wasteland.   With ALCO gone in 1969, and GE spread globally, I'm told the population of Schenectady has declined nearly a third since 1950.  Keep in mind, the soapbox I'm preaching from has no great view itself.  I grew up in Guilderland.  Although I still love the place, I'm also aware that it's not the center of the Universe.  Not even in the same zip code. 

 And yet, here I am; An official resident of the Old Stockade for just over a month-point-five.  Even a week before I signed the lease and first moved in, I can admit that I had no intention to locate out this way.  What changed? Well, five bars within a five minute walk never hurts, but that certainly isn't a deciding factor now, is it?  It's something else instead. 

Schenectady has a pulse.  And it's only getting stronger.  

There are coffeehouses here, and they serve up a mean espresso.  Open mic nights, jam nights with plenty of local talent.  There's trivia at the bars, and art in the galleries.  Lots of it.  The food you can find is delicious and varied.  Off-broadway shows are playing at Proctors, and there's community theater to boot.  Pub crawls and dancing lessons, rock music and a Sunday market.  Oh, and the base of my food pyramid through the late 90s, Bombers, has opened another bar right on State Street.  In the same way Homer Simpson salivates over the thought of hog fat, so I do with the thought of lemon-pepper garlic wings.  Schenectady, how did I miss all this?

The Schenectady of Yesteryear.

 And so this blog was born.  Now, truth time; I know nothing about blogs, nor the culture behind it.  It's always been a bit of a strange idea to me, kind of like Crocs and Vitamin Water (Did I just alienate some potential readers before they've finished reading my first post? Told you I was new to this).  Up until this year, I couldn't figure out why people wanted to share their everyday lives with the online world.  Then I couldn't figure out why people would regularly read what was written.  But

some friends enlightened me.  Most blogs aren't about the authors, they're about the knowledge the authors want to pass on.  I'm sure you, dear reader, knew this already.  I'm apparently a bit slow on the uptake.  

So this blog is meant to explore the Electric City; what makes it tick, its beating heart.  This city has so much more growing to do, and it's got the perfect community to help it along the way.  I'll be searching out every brilliant facet I can find, but I'll be relying on you, the reader, to point me in the right direction as well.  Every now and then I'll take a look at the famous names that have come out of this town (Fact: Did you know Doctor Octopus from the Spiderman comics was born in Schenectady?).  As I get more familiar with it all, we'll start looking at local politics, movements, anything that could help make Schenectady a better place.  


I emphasize, my goal is to be a signpost at a crossroads; not telling you where to go and what to do, but to give you as many options as I can.  I'll only have an arrow or two on the post to begin with, but that number will multiply.  Any help along the way is appreciated.  I'll keep it upbeat, always.  I'm not out to slay the reputation of businesses, I will always find the positive where I go.  These posts are meant to build up a city, not tear it down.  If you think you've got a place worth visiting, do let me know.  I'll see you out there.  Thank you for reading!


Let's watch Schenectady grow again. Food. Drink. Music. Art.  It's all here... 
The Electric City Redux.