#hamlin park

[pedestrianlens]

[breadclips]

2022 May 11

[openswim]

Bang Bang: Hamlin Park and Chase Park

Of my many summer activities, the one I often neglect to bring up is job rejection; one particular morning, I woke up with the intention of pulling off a north-end “Bang bang” by hitting Hamlin Park and Chase Park in one day before playing a show back in the Ukrainian Village. Before any of that could happen, I had to wait for a call from a local company that I had interviewed with the week before. Earlier in the week, I had a spidey sense it wasn’t going to happen.

I’ve had the same spidey sense about every job I’ve hunted out. Not that I’ve been hitting the pavement that often, but positions that make sense to me in terms of employment just aren’t panning out. I spent most of my thirties in a unique and uncommon job, and now I’m out of it, and I’m still breathing from being out of it. I had one incredibly generous job offer from a kind and wonderful friend, but I balked at it because I felt that I would actually fuck it all up and let my friend down. Outside of that though, it’s been interviews, occasional freelance things, or these nebulous meetings where it’s concluded “well, (we) don’t really have a position open, but (we) did want to meet you.”

I leaned the back of my waist up against my counter and ate some oatmeal. “This isn’t going to happen. It should, it easily could, and it’s not going to.” One foot curled around the other, eyes affixed on a “Punk Flyer” my friend Michael drew. Dead silence. Phone rang. Job offer was passed on, I was given a reason why, I told them I completely disagreed with said reason, thanked them and  hung up.

“Fuck. Fucking failure legs.” I cried a little bit, while repeating two mantras



“That wasn’t what you thought it was going to be.”


“This is how it’s going to be.”

I grabbed everything I needed for the day--change of clothes (playing a show later,) swim gear, charger, notebook, phone, sunscreen, bike accoutrements and set out.

I have no idea what I want

I have no idea what I want to do next. I know what I’m good at, I know that what I’m good at doing can be mutated into various forms of work. My skills are fluid and are applicable to many different arenas. The center is usually dealing with people—making people feel comfortable, welcome, safe, and confidant in knowing why they’re in my realm and why I’m in theirs; this comes from both my parents and what they’ve done and continue to do. It’s just when you step out of this womblike world you’ve been in for eight years, and you’re alone, uncertain but also feeling quite comfortable in your new found freedom (look it’s not all bad! I sleep like a cherub most nights) finding “what’s next” or having to answer the inevitable “so what are you doing now?” feels very hollow.



“So what are you doing now?”


“Oh I’ve been at the pool.”  

The last six years of my employment saw many summer days at Hamlin Park. Tuesdays or Fridays, with my lovely friend Claire and then eventually Meredith, or sometimes Angie. Heck, the first time I kicked it with my friend Alissa (who’s a wonderfully kind and sweet yoga instructor living in Oakland) was at Hamlin. It was conveniently located by my work, and the swim times jived with whatever you would consider a “lunch” period at a place that didn’t necessarily exist within the Nine-to-Five paradigm. Claire sold it to me as “It’s a pool with mostly trophy moms” which meant kids in the shallow end, the large deck being left for those tanning and the deep end largely left to its own—a quiet, vast, welcoming area free of troubles. It was a good way to see Claire, get our lives and dilemmas straight in that way that only really close, solid friends can help you navigate through. 



This time though, it was different; and maybe it was just one thing that had me tripping, or maybe it was this one thing that my soul was feeling.  Maybe one thing begat the other, so let’s start with the obvious.

You see that? That’s the deep end now; a once mighty, noble, deep end, cold as the reality that’s being presented to me, blue as my insides turned hanging up that stupid phone call this morning, once nine feet in depth now reduced to five feet. 



I stood there in disbelief. Standing in a place I often would over the years, poising myself for a jump to initiate that afternoon’s small slice of bliss, knowing that if I were to jump now, I’d probably jam a foot, or a shin, left to only limply wade along whatever you want to call this “deep end.”



I looked around. No one cared. They were all young, attractive, seemingly had their lives together. One of these people could have easily looked at the notes of an interview, or looked over my resume without any prior knowledge and said “pass!” Realizing my bitterness setting in, I bailed. I said goodbye to my past; a place that once gave me joy, happiness, a peaceful respite  for my friends and I—a pause button from the constant thud of a brutal world—said goodbye cuz I’m never going back to this five foot dump again.  Twenty minutes, flat. Spent more time locking up my bike and changing.



City of Chicago, stop it with all the leveling of pools. Deep ends exist for many people for many reasons. 

Hamlin Park—it was grand, but see ya.



 


Hamlin Park 3035 N. Hoyne Ave. Facility Hours: 11:00 AM-7:00 PM Facility Phone: [phone]  Biking north on a straight shot up Damen, eventually cruising through the always charming Ravenswood viaduct, I reached Chase Park. Knowing I had a handful of free time, I went easy, giving myself time to breathe, to drink a fizzy water, and trying my best to make do with a frustrating start to my day. 

My friend Catie met up with me. Last year, Catie taught me how to sew—I still need to work on that. I figured it would be a good way to keep my hands busy while trying to quit smoking. Years ago the band I’m in, Fake Limbs, played a show in St. Louis and there was one particularly shifty looking punisher (a punisher is someone that doesn’t stay in their lane, doesn’t pick up on cues, will make sure you’re fully aware of their presence, etc.) that took a liking to the various aspects of my performance. He was trying to convince me to sneak into a very fancy looking building with very tall columns that had a soft light cycle illuminating it’s entrance. With a seemingly casual look of “dear lord, help me” Catie saved me from a potentially difficult situation. 



Chase Park is by no means, a destination; it is very much a neighborhood pool. I argued that this is a pool “For Losers” to which Catie became incredulous to our presence there. I didn’t necessarily mean “Loser” in a sad sack, “woe is me,” Bill Dautrieve/Jerry Lundegaard fashion. I meant it in a tribute to the disenfranchised, the outcasts. In high honor, the same league as Caddyshack, or Chris Gethard or Archie Shepp, “Loser” that you don’t find on a t-shirt. “Loser” that you find when you start your day with rejection, with loss, with hopelessness in your world. This is a pool for that. To remind you that “oh sure, life is a garbage, but at least you have this place that’s SHARES A FENCE WITH AN AUTOBODY SHOP that you can jump nine feet down into.” You won’t hear someone talk about how they only get all the oil and butter for their various diets exclusively at whole foods, but you will hear Peter Gabriel’s “Big Time” blaring from the garage next door while various drills and clangs go off.



It’s some loser vibes, and that’s TOTALLY OKAY! Alright look, here’s a conversation that we had. Catie: “It kinda sucks that none of the pools in the city have a night time swim strictly for adults.” Me: “I know! Like, what’s one more hour? The park is open til 11! But I imagine there’s some sort of budget crunch or maybe a curfew thing?” “It’d just be cool to find a pool where you could swim after dusk and maybe have a drink.” “I think there are some of those in Philly. Like bars that have pools. I can’t imagine what--” “Like, the insurance? I mean it does only take what, three inches of water to drown or something?” “Yeah, I bet the insurance is astronomical. Unless they make you sign some sort of waiver.” “I’d sign a waiver if it meant I could drink at a pool.” “Oh totally. I think I just discovered what my life is valued at. Just worth enough to give over to a bar.”

It’s an okay pool—efficient, small (But still a deep end!) and a kind staff on hand. What’s more, they have on record, the warmest shower’s to get into before and after your dip. Can’t say that for 90% of the pools that open swim has been discovering. To note: the last time I went to this pool was two years ago, because I had a break between playing sets with two different bands at a BBQ that was nearby. Like I said, not a destination, but a place when you’re in the hood, and feel like you need to hit it. Chase Park 4701 N. Ashland Ave. Facility Hours: 11:00 AM-7:00 PM Facility Phone: [phone]

[whatsnewbuffalo]

The History of Hamlin Park

Mike Puma is writing a multi-part series on the history of the Hamlin Park; home to the East Side's Humboldt Parkway that was fractured open by the Kensington Expressway. Yet, the historical significance of the neighborhood remains strong and the Hamlin Park Historic District recently became the newest addition to the National Register of Historic Places.

Now all of the historic buildings in the neighborhood are eligible for both the state and federal historic tax credits which give a 20% - 40% refund on building restorations. Puma's series draws its information from the National Register nomination,completed by Preservation Studios, with the hope of restoring prominence to this grand neighborhood.

Part: I, II, III, IV, V, VI

Photograph © Mike Puma

[jasonwaterfalls-blog]

Kenny the Can Man

Prior Knowledge Necessary to Understand the Story: Canisius College is in the heart of Buffalo, New York. The area that encompasses the campus is called Hamlin Park. In the recent past the streets in the Hamlin Park area have been taken over by landlords and their college student tenants. At Canisius we like to call them "Resi-muters". A "resi-muter" is someone that lives close enough to campus they do not have to drive, but they also do not live in housing provided by the college. In all technicalities they are commuters. I proudly have been able to call myself a "resi-muter" for a year now. My roommates and I chose one of the houses that is closest to campus. Lets just say Im closer to my classrooms now than I ever was in the dorms.

More Background: Hamlin Park is lucky enough to have a very well known resident. His name is Kenny, Kenny the Can Man. This cool cat is the unofficial leader of the Hamlin Park beautification project. He rides his bike around with a garbage bag of cans. He collects cans from yards on the weekends. I love knowing that the cans left in yards by reckless drunk students will go towards something Kenny can use. During my sophomore year I believe he got a new bike.  

Story: I was visiting a friend last week and as I was leaving a mysterious black man came up on the neighbors porch. Immediately grabbed a seat and asked for a beer. He definitely was not a student but the was friendly and buddy buddy with the neighbors. I turn to my friend and asked who that was. She goes "Its Kenny the Can Man." I was shocked and I also laughed that he was friends with her neighbors. Her neighbors are huge pot heads and some of the nicest people I say hi to on that porch. Kenny was just trying to rack up some business, that's all.

[theseldoms]

I love a sequin leotard

A Mink Coat, a Diamond, and a Hummer walk into a bar in Missouri…

Imagine a world where Willy Loman is a Prada salesman, accompanied by 3 luxury items in sparkling leotards, and a talking bear. (Yes, I said talking bear.)

We all know the classic play, Death of a Salesman by playwright Arthur Miller. The main character, Willy Loman, obsessed with the question of greatness, has reached the end of his career and quickly begins a spiraling downfall. Similarly, Death of a (Prada) Salesman, is a work about the decline of the luxury market in the current economic crisis, and the salesman whose dreams vanish along with it.

Now, I have to confess that this has been a rather amusing world we’ve been living in over the past few months. I have never worn Prada, thought about Prada, let alone BOUGHT Prada. Yet, I have learned to vogue, moonwalk, and can somehow squeeze my body into a tiny sequined leotard that I'll be wearing in front of many people.

Don’t miss it on October 1st and 2nd at The Other Dance Festival. Just be prepared to see some dramatic dancing (new by The Seldoms), and some sparkle, Prada vogueing!

Ok, I can’t tell you anymore because you will have to come see the show...

-Amanda