Wednesday, December 7, 2011

It's Been a While, But We're Back with Style.

Readers, it's been a while. I've missed you. Weave has not been in the forefront of my thinking recently, but I look for it everywhere I go. I even found some on the island off the coast of New Hampshire (I think). But let's ease back in with a city I am beginning to get to know better. San Francisco officially became a city in 1826, but before it was established it was a site that positively glowed with ideals of success and a better life.
For quite a bit of time, Spain, Russia, and England were all vying for power and seeking domination on the Pacific Coast- Spain won. Laurels crown the names of Bucareli the viceroy of new spain, Anze the explorer and colonist, and Serra the president of the missions. A letter sent in 1774 from Bucareli to Serra marks the official beginning of the founding of San Francisco. Thus starts a long list of boat rides, surveys, arrivals, and departures. And all of that is how we now find ourselves here:

This weave has caught the sun, waiting for a lurid voyeur to come take a picture. It's almost as though it had been delicately placed on the Newport box just for you guys.

Here's a breakdown of the San Francisco:
The city is small, full of hills, beautiful at times, and way too expensive for an east coast dweller living south of New York and north of D.C. The city is small, and because of the size the demographics and statistics generally overlap between the county and the city. All I know about the county is that it hosts the only real pancake house in a suburb called Millbrae. I recommend their blueberry pancakes.
The city hosts somewhere between 776,000 and 808,000 people, and that is split about almost even between male and female (though it sports a few more men). The largest age groups span from 25 to 54. The majority of city dwellers have an income that falls between $50,000 to $74,999. Like I said, that city is expensive. In terms of race, whites are coming in the lead and are followed by Asian, Hispanic/Latino, African American, the mysterious "other", American Indian, and then Pacific Islander.
The website rates cities and compares how safe they are in contrast to other cities in the United States. Thanks to this site, I know that my chance of becoming a victim of a violent crime in San Francisco is 1 in 118. S.F. safer than only 9% of other U.S. cities. But don't worry tourists, the rate of property crime is much higher, with about 37,039 property crimes compared to 6,808 violent crimes a year.
But numbers and stats are boring to read as much as they are boring to research. San Francisco is full of wildly diverse neighborhoods, and you know exactly when you've left one and entered another. Is this a sign of age, race, ethnic, or religious segregation based on streets? Maybe, but it also gives each space a unique identity.
Occupying is big these days. Let's talk about that. The Occupy SF movement isn't just a group of kids in front of the Ferry Building at Justin Herman Plaza and hosting drummers and trolley car shaped tents, there are outposts in front of Wells Fargo locations around the city. That city effing hates Wells Fargo.
In the 1960s, San Francisco (and Berkley and Oakland) were rife with social justice movements. This city is no stranger to a diverse population with a wide range of stories about oppression and violence.
If you're a little nervous about the occupy groups, the police just broke down the settlement early this morning. No need to worry anymore.
Good thing NoFX got there before that all went down:

San Francisco isn't all sunshine and beautiful gardens, the city is struggling financially. The cost of transportation, housing, amusement, and everything else is going up. I'd be more careful about shedding weave if I live in California these days; every penny counts.

Thanks to Alvin and the Chipmunks for the title.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Pike Street to Park Slope, Brooklyn.

Weave fans, weave lovers, and weave followers-

The time has come to talk of any things- actually, we're just here to talk about weave. Since heading to this island, I have realized that lacking diversity of any kind generally means there is going to be a lack of weave. It may be a generalization, but it could very well be the truth. Since I have chosen to work for a handful of months in the whitest place since 'Stuff White People Like', I depend on whoever feels inclined to send me pictures they awkwardly took of something on the ground. Today, I can thank Jane for helping me out!

The weave is waiting in your path, guiding you through the wilds of urban living.

If I were ever to write a children's book, I use this photo. It would be a modern telling of 'Hansel and Gretel'. Instead of dropping crumbs, they will drop scraps of weave to help bring them home. The twist will be: there is so much weave on the streets of New York that they will follow the wrong pieces home. Boom.
These pieces were found at the corner of 7th Ave. and 13th St. in Park Slope. Thanks to the magic of the internet (and my free time in the office), I found a picture of the very same corner on Google earth.

If you continue to read this blog, you will never have to go on vacation again. My updates are like windows into magical new worlds.
Let me set the stage: Park Slope, Brooklyn. Now this is a place that should be featured on the blog 'Stuff White People Like'. That place is crawling with same-sex couples pushing strollers, small dogs being held in their owners' arms during walks, and well-groomed window boxes full of bright flowers on streets shaded by real trees. Incidentally, this is not something I have made up. I highly recommend you check out this article before you do anything else: I have a cited source, you MLA freaks.
I could easily expand into a loquacious, and poorly written, novella about the Slope Rage meme that is spreading like Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease through a daycare, but we have demographics to discuss. The rumor mill is churning out an endless supply of hateraid about Park Slope, but what is it actually like there?
Well, let the internet tell you. Park Slope is a neighborhood in western Brooklyn, New York City's most populous borough. Park Slope is roughly bounded by Prospect Park West to the east, Fourth Avenue to the west, Flatbush Avenue to the north, and 15th Street to the south, though other definitions are sometimes offered.But honestly, I am not that worried about the other definitions. Are you? No, you don't care.
The population is about 33,441 people, and in regards to racial makeup this is a breakdown from about 2000 (eleven years isn't that long):68% white, 27% Hispanic, 10% mysterious other, 8% Black, 5% Asian. Hold onto your hats for the next statistic because it's a doozy. The median income is $96,532. This is by far the wealthiest area to be featured on Tumble Weave. Kudos Park Slope. Is that weave made by Prada? provides fun information like 'who lives here?', and then provides a general outline of 'The main types of people who live there'.
1) Power Singles—High-income urban singles.
Highly educated professionals, many with advanced degrees. They draw a handsome salary and have reasonable living expenses while living a hip, upscale life in an urban center.
2)Makin' It Singles—Upper-scale urban singles.
Pre-middle-age to middle-age singles with upper-scale incomes. May or may not own their own home. Most have college educations and are employed in mid-management professions.
3)Multi-lingual Urbanites—Urban dwellers who speak more than one language.
Some have a high school or college education, and they work in a variety of occupations. Moderate to upper-scale earning potential.

Based on my calculations about 92% of people living in Park Slope shop at stores that make hip clothes for babies, dogs, or both.

Interestingly though, during the 1950s, Park Slope saw its decline as a result of suburban sprawl and declining local industries. Many of the wealthy and middle-class families fled for the suburban life and Park Slope became a rougher, more working class neighborhood. It was mostly Italian and Irish in the 1950s and 1960s, though this changed in the 1960s and 1970s as the black and Latino population of the Slope increased and many of the Italian and Irish population began to relocate. Then the hippies and artists showed up and gentrification grabbed hold. The rest is history.

For more information on Park Slope, see Park Slope Barbie below:

Remember to email if you find some weave. Include the location where your found it!

Keep calm and carry on.

Thank you to Jane for the pictures
Thank you to Harvey Danger for "Park Street to Park Slope"
Thank you to Park Slope for being an easy target

Cited Sources (because I went to college):
My own experiences, suckers.
The NY Times,_Brooklyn

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

The City is my Jungle Gym

The littlest weave found thus far, my sister found this piece of weave during a trip she took to our home city of Philadelphia:

This little scrap, this little gem, is caught somewhere in the wilds of historic Old City- specifically Franklin Square. There is "Old City", which includes, you know, a cracked bell, an old document declaring our independence, an old-timey soda shoppe, and Betsy Ross' house. Then there are is the old city that surrounds the actual old stuff; one of those faux old things is Franklin Square. There is a carousel, mini-golf, a playground, a burger shack, and a giant fountain. Perhaps I am being unfair: maybe mini-golf is wildly historic. Maybe B. Franks was wandering around Philly with his little glasses and balding head, looking for dudes to play mini-golf with. "Ben", they probably groaned, "you have inventing to do and women to hit on. Shove off! We're very busy defining liberty. Go draw a snake or something". There's some history you never learned in school.
Back to Franklin Square: really lays it all out for you on the website when it says, "Franklin Square is one of Philadelphia’s five original squares - and the only one dedicated just to fun!" Listen historic Philadelphia, playgrounds are for heathens; I am not trying to go to playgrounds when I am trying to get my learn on, mainly because security chases me away from monkey bars I am obviously too old for. Old City is for being afraid of pigeons, aggressive throngs of tourists, and stewing in heavy summer heat/slipping on icy winter days. Fun should be found in the form of long plaques for dedications, waiting in lines to see old crap, and throwing your money away by the fistful as you buy things you don't need. And now both Old City and Franklin Square are for finding weave and emailing them to someone with a weave-related blog.
Despite my hesitations to immediately throw my love into Franklin Square, it should be noted the history of this area does not move in a straight trajectory, it waxes and wanes. The area wavered between important in the eyes of the elite, or a pitiful waste of space to be ignored and left for the impoverished.
The square is one of the five open-air squares that was designed by William Penn; originally called Northeast Square, Franklin Square was renamed in 1825 to honor Benjamin Franklin, one of the most prominent Founding Fathers of the United States and a leading printer, scientist, inventor, civic activist, diplomat, and original gangster.In the early years, the space was actually very interesting: it was used to store gun powder during the American Revolution, it was an open common used for grazing animals, and parts of the space were used by the German reform church as a cemetery. Take a minute to picture that combination: grazing animals, gun powder, and corpses. History at its finest, I'd say. Some people think the square was the site of Franklin's original "kite and key" fiasco, but I like to think he was smarter than to do that sort of thing around gun powder and dead bodies and the like.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Franklin Square was at the center of a fashionable neighborhood in which to live. But beginning in the 1920s, a series of events corresponding with the rise of the automobile began the decline of the Square and its surrounding neighborhood. The construction of the Ben Franklin Bridge, from 1922–26, leveled blocks of row homes, shops and other structures; the Bridge begins at the Square’s eastern boundary, 6th Street. The steady flow of cars over the bridge made Franklin Square’s northern boundary, Vine Street, into one of the city’s busiest thoroughfares, effectively cutting off pedestrian access on two of the Square's sides. And this is not a joke. Anyone who has ever tried to cross streets around Franklin Square knows that you can look left and then right/right and then left anywhere between 6 and 31 times. You can gingerly begin to place one foot gently on the street, but as soon as you begin to settle your weight, a car will careen down an off-ramp from the expressway at a speed that should only be used for when a pregnant woman has gone into labor in the backseat. So I like to assume that each car that whizzes by me so fast that I get whiplash is carrying a woman to the hospital so she can give birth in a sterilized environment.
Jane Jacobs, architecture writer, called Franklin Square "skid row park" in 1961. The neighborhood’s residential character was further eroded when the federal government established Independence Mall. The government acquired private land around the Square in the 1950s and 1960s and demolished blocks of homes and other buildings. The construction of the Vine Street Expressway in the late 1980s exacerbated the problem. Franklin Square became the least-used of Penn’s original five squares, and served mainly an encampment for the homeless.I wonder how many times the police (who conveniently have a headquarters in Franklin Square) have had to chase off groups of homeless people, who run from the jungle gym, tittering and giggling as they merge into one in the dark night.
It was just 2006 when the park was refurbished and rededicated. That's when playgrounds and mini-golf actually came into being. It was a good change. The space is still accessible and open for all- which can be rare when it comes to having safe fun in a city. It's sort of sad to think that someone was excited that they could go spend time in a park with a faux-history theme that makes you feel like you're learning when you aren't. They were so excited that they lost some of their weave.
All is fair in weaves and park restoration, I suppose.

Well, dear readers, that is all for now. I am being called back to duty cleaning floors and setting out homemade cookies for new guests arriving soon.

Remember: if you find weave, please take a picture and email it to
Send the picture, the city or town or community, and the cross streets where it was found!

Thank you to Sadaya for the picture (and for a short visit back to the East Coast)
Thank you to Jack Johnson and G. Love for "Jungle Gym"

Cited Sources:

Monday, June 6, 2011

On an Island in the Sun

The updates are slowing down. Are you asking yourself why? Are you kept awake at night, heart pounding and brow sweating? " If I fall asleep, I may not know if a new post is up on Weave Nation". There is nothing to be embarrassed about, as I toss and turn in the early morning hours, wondering maybe I will be missing a marathon of old episodes of 'Antiques Roadshow' on PBS. We all have fears.

I want to post; I dream of finding weaves caught in rusting fences or encrusted with residue from life on the streets. I cannot even remember the last time I dreamed, but now I find myself imagining soiled strands almost every day. The sea has called me forth from my urban barracks; the wild waters croon like the Sirens who were just too sexy for Odysseus' men to resist. That's how I feel about the ocean- though I suppose my adoration of Poseidon's domain is likable to this woman's love of rollercoasters.
But now this post has become vaguely uncomfortable, and oddly Homeric in nature. Moving right along, I feel comfortable telling my readership that I have moved to a tiny island for a handful of months to fulfill the fanciful and painfully absurd demands of people wealthy enough to spend hundreds of dollars to escape to an island. Needless to say, there is not much weave to be had on what adds up to little more than a somewhat large rock face.

How to solve this problem. Create an email address! If you find weave and feel inclined to take picture, you can email it to
Send the picture, the city or town in which it was found, and the cross streets or neighborhood.

Let's continue making this into a community project!

Two's up, It's a two's up

As the title implies, noble readers, the post is a two for one deal. You read that right: this post will give you two glorious pieces of weave. Unlike the first post, which featured two pieces of weave within one city block in Baltimore City, below will compare weave from two different cities. It is an exciting day, as we will finally talk about cities we have never discussed before. Let's begin.
A buddy of mine from the ultimate frisbee team, Julian, emailed me this picture:

In this instance, we have an interesting conundrum: is this weave, or is this not weave? When an extension is woven into the hair, or glued to the scalp, or carefully clipped, it is not so easy to say whether or not it is real. Does that woman have extensions? Is she fakin' it? Is her hair really that lustrous and voluminous? We don't know. We can't tell. When the weave, like a bad graft, rejects the recipient and flees, it is easier to investigate and ask big questions. This could be weave; or it could be wrapped string since dropped by a crafts enthusiast. As Dr. Dog has said, the world may never know.
This piece was found in Towson, Maryland at the Towson Public Library. Now, Towson is not a city, but a "community" says It is a bustling suburb nearly 15 minutes outside of the limits of Baltimore City, and home to the original bagel haven of Towson Hot Bagels. As an aside, THB has become a chain and spread to locations such as the Baltimore neighborhood of Canton- a Towson Hot Bagel in Canton. The wonders never cease. And they continue here: according to, Towson is an anomaly with a population of 0, with a population density of 0.00 people per square mile. Unless my four years spent in Towson, Maryland was an elaborate ruse organized with the timeless movie The Turman Show in mind, this information is false. Well done, internet. But for those hoping to check Towson out for themselves, the visit Towson page on does not work. Maybe my theory is not far off...
Now for the summary as my writing has already become long winded:
Towson hosts about 53,000 residents- 50,000 of which are students at Towson University (based on how many of them regularly make the lines unbearable at Pasta Mista and the liquor store). Overall the income for Towson is above average for the state of Maryland, the former being $72,000 and the latter being $69,000. In regards to the demographics of the population: 81% is white, 8.4% is black, 4.9% is asian, 3% is hispanic, and the lingering "other" constitutes 1.9%. Interestingly, "American alone" is listed as 0.2% of Towson's population. Who are these people? I'm assuming the residents who registered to vote under the Tea Party.
And now on to our next piece. This one was lovingly sent to me by my friend Quinn who has recently rejected the title of "Yankee" to pursue a life in the South. While settling in, she found this piece of weave that she then passed a couple more time while riding the trolley. Your first thought should be, if you don't live in San Francisco or West Philadelphia, "the trolley? Did she actually land herself in an episode of the twilight zone where the trolley is still a notable form of transportation?" No, dear readers. She is simply in the south. There is a slight difference.

Oddly enough, New Orleans, where this weave was found, is slightly more complicated to summarize than Towson, Maryland. Contain your shock. This weave, notably more like weave than our first picture, was found along St. Charles Ave.
New Orleans isn't all sadness and the lower 9th ward, it is also full of history, art, music, good people, delicious food, and a strong spirit. New Orleans has a grime recent history and many have written off the city as a new Detroit. I have been to both places, and I can say, in all seriousness, that both of these cities are two of the most memorable and enjoyable places I have been in the United States. Blah, blah, blah. New Orleans is located in southeastern Louisiana, straddling the Mississippi River, and was founded in 1718. It also goes by the aliases NOLA and The Big Easy.
And, now, weave. According to, St. Charles is “The Jewel of America’s Grand Avenues", as it boasts the largest collection of mansions in the south. Kudos. Also taken from the previously cited website, "The Avenue is also in glorious state as the place of residence for historic Audubon Park, for the City’s renowned centers of higher education – Loyola and Tulane – and a score of churches and Synagogues that are our City’s major centers of worship". I had no idea there were synagogues in the south- and my family is Jewish. Within the New Orleans parish, the actual population is 354,850. Whereas the overall income average for Louisiana is $42,492, the average income for the parish is $36,468. I highly doubt it is the residents of the St. Charles Ave. area bringing down the average. To break down the population demographics, we have Mo Rocca (just kidding, I am just trying to up my intellectual hipster street cred):
61.2% of the population is black, 29.8% is white, 4.7% is hispanic, 3% is asian, 1.1% is the mysterious other, the now common title of "American alone" comprises 0.1% of the population, and finally 0.1% of the population is Mardi Gras parade floats.

Thank you to Julian
Thank you to Quinn
Thank you to AC/DC for "Two's Up"
Thank you to all people who have weave they leave behind.

Cited Sources:

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Don't Sleep on the Subway, Darlin', The Night is Long

Just like Petula Clark said in "Don't Sleep on the Subway", don't sleep on the subway. And that was sage advice because if I had been asleep on the subway, I would have missed this piece of weave on the sidewalk in front of the Fern Rock Transportation Center in Philadelphia, PA. Located at 900 Nedro Avenue & 10th Street, there is no ticket counter, no bike racks, and of the 639 parking spaces, generally 0 are available by early afternoon. It is dirty, cramped,and surrounded by a residential area and a police station. Between looking at my watch while waiting for friends to pick me up and reading The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larson, I looked down at my feet, demurely crossed at the ankle and clad in my spiffy new Sperry top-siders, and noticed this piece of weave:

Fern Rock is a neighborhood in the upper upper parts of North Philadelphia. Around Fern Rock on all sides are Olney to the east, Ogontz to the west, Logan to south, and East Oak Lane to the north. It is bound on all sides by other equally small and not well known little neighborhoods. In all honesty, the purpose of this post is to feed both my ego and love for the mundane, as well as bring some much needed publicity to these areas. But I digress, Fern Rock demands my utmost attention. The area is a mix of 1920's style row homes, a few high rise apartment buildings, some older twins and single homes, along with various commercial strips along Broad Street, Olney Avenue in and around Broad Street, and Old York Road. The area is predominantly African American, at probably about 95% of the population, with the remaining 5% made up of residents who have been categorized as white, hispanic, asian, and the ever- baffling "other". The average income is about $35,488; the average number of single-parent (specifically single-mother) is about 23.2% of all households-- which is slightly higher than the average for Philadelphia overall at 14.9% of all households.
At this point you may still be thinking, "Fern Rock. Feernnn Rooockk? Do I know this place? Why should I care about Fern Rock?" Well, for starters, you skeptical readers out there, Fern Rock is home to The Pennsylvania College of Optometry. Try getting glasses or that eye exam you remember about every six or seven years without optometrists. If that nugget of knowledge still isn't helping you place how you may know the area, perhaps you may remember the highly publicized and much-discussed double homicide that took place in September of 2006. You can read more about it here if you are interest. I do recommend looking into the full details of the event, but I am not quite bold enough at this time to throw information at people who are not ready to hear it. I hope that intentional ambiguity caught your attention.

Not every city is perfect-- in fact, many cities are damn near awful from the outside. But even Atom and His Package reminds listeners in the song "Philadelphia" that, you know, in Philadelphia you have to "get to know us" before you judge-- this line comes after: "this is the city of brotherly love and crime/ and we only bombed our own city once, one time". Well, I guess you can't win 'em all.

Until next time, faithful readers.

Thank you to Sam and Rachel for making me wait at the Fern Rock stop for a bit, giving me enough time to find this.

Thank you to Petula Clark for "Don't Sleep on the Subway"(1967)
Thank you to Atom and His Package for "Philadelphia" (2002)


In Baltimore, You'll Find What You've Been Waiting For

The summer time is finally here. The brutal heat and humidity, characteristics not unknown to those who live anywhere between New York City and Florida, leaves the air heavy with moisture you cannot avoid; your armpits wet like a woolen sweater caught in a rainstorm. In Baltimore, it means running from your crumbling house that was built well before air conditioning or closets large enough to fit a hanger. Out in the streets, people of all races, ages, genders, and the like search for reprieve in shaded parks, free museums, and out door markets- which is exactly where our newest treasure was found.

Found on Baltimore Avenue by Hollins Market, this extension is clear and fresh as the early morning haze on the pavement in the summer. Before we begin, Baltimore has 6 public markets that were established between the 18th and 19th centuries. Baltimore may be famous for more than lots of crime, dilapidated row homes, and the inner harbor,but these markets should be at the forefront of every local and tourists mind when grasping for what makes Baltimore a worthwhile city. Lexington Market is by far the oldest and the largest and reasonably stationed under a bridge- like all great things in the greatest city in America, it is a little weird and oddly located.
But Hollins Market, a block-long, 30,000-square foot facility, has a two-story front built in 1877. Located in Baltimore's old Lithuanian section, Hollins Market is the only one to still retain its second floor. Up until the late 1950s, vendors along three blocks of Hollins Street sold goods outside the market. This market was the last to close its outside street stalls. [For those are interested, it is open from 7 am to 6pm on South Arlington Avenue.
The Hollins Market neighborhood itself is about 14,764 people per square mile; the average household income is a little below the city average ($38,772) at $35,014. The majority of people who live in Hollins Market Neighborhood have a high school diploma at around 38% of residents, with second highest coming in with a bachelor degree at around 10% of residents. Racially, it is primarily black, followed by white, then hispanic,and then asain, and then- according to the internet- "other". Whatever other means.
And there, among the diversity and the butchers and bakers and candlestick makers peddling their wares, was this woven treat.

If you're caught in the summer heat of Baltimore, a hidden treasure or adventure is never from your front door- or bus stop.

Thanks to Mo-mo for this picture and location.

Thanks to The Extra Glenns for "Baltimore".

Monday, May 2, 2011

I Fell In Love in the Library, Once Upon a Time

The end of the semester at any college or university, I'm guessing, means as many students as possible are trying to cram their bodies and all of their stuff into any open space possible. At Goucher College, computers in the information commons are claimed for days on end; snacks, empty to-go containers, and piles of books become makeshift barricades. We stop looking at each other, and only see how few assignments others have in comparison. Resent is the sugar in our coffee with two shots of expresso; envy directed at those who have just finished their last papers of the semester is cherry on the massive sundae we order from the Gopher Hole to fill the emptiness.
What I didn't realize the end of semester meant constant self-grooming in public spaces.
Yes, readers, there is more weave in the Goucher College library. In almost exactly the same location as before. It is almost too uncanny to be a coincidence. Nestled in almost to the point of blending in with the mottled rug, more weave has found a home in the absence of a head on which to dwell. It will sit there sadly until housekeeping comes in the early hours of tomorrow morning to vacuum it up. And more weave will be discarded without a second thought.

Riddle me this Goucher students: what exactly has been happening in our library?

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

As Redman Said, "Once Upon a Time in Jersey, Yo!"

New Jersey- Home to the most shopping malls...the most diners...the Miss. American pageant...and the first Native American reservation.
Needless to say, Jersey is the epitome class and high culture. Next time someone tries to slander this blissful state, say with force and conviction, "Shut your mouth! You know who's from Jersey? Aaron Burr. And that guy shot Alexander Hamilton." Legit, am I right?

And high in the northern reaches of New Jersey lies New Brunswick, a quaint little college town that houses Rutgers Univeristy and it's thousands of college-age students. Today while going about her business, my good friend, Genna, found this treasure at the cross streets of College Ave. and Stone St. in New Brunswick: At first glance, this looks like a creature left in the middle of the road to die a death befit for an existentialist novella. However it is not a rat that has crawled from the well- maintained sewers of New Brunswick, but a weave left for the taking-- hopefully the taking of the eyes. And as an experiment, I will now seamlessly move into an analysis of the area where this homeless weave was found. I am going to delve a little more seriously into the demographics of the area, as the original thought behind this blog is to both enjoy these glimpses into the secret life of weaves, but also to look at the social structures in which they exist.
New Brunswick, located in Middlesex County, hosts 48,573 people with 9,293.5 people per square mile. The racial makeup of the city is 48.79% white, 39.01% Latino, 23.03% African American, 0.46% Native American, 5.32% Asian, 0.08% Pacific Islander, and 18.08% from a host of other races. The remaining 4.24% identify as two or more races. Many of the residents who identify as Latino come from Puerto Rico, Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, the Dominican Republic, and Ecuador.
The median household income in New Brunswick is $36,080, with an average of $13,053 and a per capita income of $14,308. The following is a simple breakdown of jobs: 17,563 residents have white collar jobs; 21,6617 residents have blue collar jobs; 23,832 are employed; and 2,820 are unemployed. Only 62.6% of residents have attained a high school degree or higher.
Within that population of almost 50,000 people, there is an estimated 4,555 crimes a year that range from violent crime to petty larceny. New Brunswick isn't exactly a gated community.

And somewhere, lost in all of that turmoil, is that stranded clump of synthetic cosmetic accoutrement.

Special Thanks to Genna Ayres and Noam Orr for sharing this picture.
Thank you to Redman for "Jersey Yo"

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

At The Library

I was beginning to lose faith. As I received text message after text message informing me that weave had been spotted around the Baltimore area, I had become despondent. Why were all of these lucky souls finding the weave, but they were without a camera and I was left with nothing? Complaints that this blog was a flop began to pile; my confidence began to dwindle. Just as I was beginning to lose sight of the original idea of this project, I was reminded that hope springs eternal.

Yes, dear readers: weave was spotted in the library of Goucher College. For those who do not know, Goucher is a small liberal arts school in the vibrant suburb of Towson, Maryland. Founded in 1885, it is home to approximately 1,477 students, with a gender ratio of 70% female to 30% male. The library, which was relocated to the recently completed Athenaeum last year, is full of harsh lighting and glass from wall to wall. To say this building is the height of chic architecture and sustainable engineering...well, that would be giving into the charade. Both the greater Ath. and the library look new and impressive, but only one is true. Despite this lackluster review, discarded weave is an unexpected visitor here. Despite any shortcomings, this building is supposed to look like a student prison in the future that may be featured in a Sci-Fi channel original movie-- and I am hesistant to say whether tumbling weave was intended to decorate the muted rugs.

Enjoy this brief posting. With eyes fixed firmly on the ground in search of weave, enjoy the sun.

Remember: if you spot weave, please take a picture and send it my way.

Special thanks to Jenna Gross for sharing this picture.
Thank you to Green Day for "At the Library"

Sunday, April 3, 2011

The Beginning: Weave, weave, everywhere.

Weave is everywhere. Without fail, you will see it in every city. One hopes to see such a thing carefully glued, sewn, or woven into a woman's (or man's) hair, adding color or volume or flair. But pieces get left behind. Strands can be found strewn about in bizarre clumps, some of which resemble rodents when quickly glanced at. Initially, little clusters of real or synthetic hair seen out of context of a human head is unsettling. Why is it there? How did it lose it's grasp on the head from which it came? Are you sure that's just weave? Such finds are, as you read, nesting in cities all over the country- maybe all over the world. Rolling along, battered by rain and wind and mud, getting caught in weeds or fences. Trapped in hedges and undergrowth, such pieces are forgotten and left to great unknown.
Here are two pictures of weave left behind: the very beginning of a look into weave nation.This image was taken on my high- tech flip cell phone. The camera is obviously highly prized in this model, offering a crisp image of weave caught in some weeds with trash. These little puffs were lost and left in the rain. I snapped a picture in the early morning of Saturday April 2nd in Baltimore, Maryland. Left in the front yard of a house on the 37 hundred block of Greenmount Ave. in the city, do the owners even know it's there? And just one block away there was another piece waiting to be noticed:
Found in the 38 hundred block of Greenmount Ave. in the epic city of Baltimore, Maryland, this piece shows more of the braiding that is common in weave.

Reader, I hope this brief post and the bad pictures helps to keep weave in mind. If you find pieces, take a picture and note the location. Share your thoughts on weave and what it means to a city.