It’d Take a Guy a Lifetime…from OTBKB JANUARY 31, 2005:

Curious about the name of this new blog. Here’s an excerpt from
Thomas Woolfe’s masterful short story called: "Only the Dead Know
Brooklyn" written in thick Brooklynese:

Dere’s no guy livin’ dat knows Brooklyn t’roo an t’roo, because it’d
take a guy a lifetime just to find his way aroun’ duh goddam town.

"So like I say, I’m waitin’ for my train t’ come when I sees dis big
guy standin’ deh — dis is the foist I eveh see of him. Well, he’s
lookin’ wild, y’know, an’ I can see dat he’s had plenty, but still he’s
holdin’ it; he talks good an’ is walkin’ straight enough. So den, dis
big guy steps up to a little guy dat’s standin’ deh, an’ says, ‘How
d’yuh get t’ Eighteent’ Avenoo an Sixty-sevent’ Street?’ he says…"

and

"Jesus! What a nut he was! I wondeh what evah happened to ‘m,
anyway. I wondeh if someone knocked him on duh head, or if he’s till
wanderin’ aroun’ in duh subway in duh middle of duh night with his
little map! Duh poor guy. Say, I’ve got to laugh, at dat, when I t’ink
about him! Maybe he’s found out by now dat he’ll never live long
enought to know duh whole of Brooklyn. It’d take a guy a lifetime to
Brooklyn t’roo an’ t’roo. An even den, yuh wouldn’t know it all."

        Pioneering video artist Nam June Paik passed away yesterday. This from Boing Boing.

"The future is now." –N.J.P. (1932-2006)

Link


      

A Brooklyn Life has this story about the new Whole Foods at Third Avenue and 3rd Street.

Brooklyn Papers
is reporting that the construction of Whole Foods at 3rd Avenue and 3rd
Street in Gowanus/Park Slope has been delayed–again–by the slow
removal of toxic gasoline storage tanks. Looks like they won’t be outta
there until March. The paper also delves into a bit of the site’s
glorious industrial history:

Going back to the 19th century, the land had hosted a lake, a coal yard,
an oil-processing company and a radiator manufacturer. Oh, and it was
also a junkyard at one point. Since excavation began in the fall, a lake
of green water has overtaken the site, a consequence of digging below the water
table…

READ MORE AT A BROOKLYN LIFE

Cool and Unusual played Southpaw on Sunday, the Slope’s groovy indie rock club
on Fifth Avenue. It was a first for all the teen bands that played. A real rock club. Woo. A great sound system. Woo hoo. A big place with
room to dance. Woo hoo hoo.

No one danced. The kids hung out near the stage and moved along to the music, screamed, yelled, hooted, and cheered after songs.

Cool and Unusual played one of their best sets ever. Their patter was pretty great: "Chinese New Year’s resolution: That we won’t suck." Sadly, they are
taking a one month hiatus. Luckily February is a short month. As
the bass player’s mother, I am sorry that they won’t be playing for a
few weeks because the improvement has been so consistent, and they are
getting so tight, so good. But they have their reasons. I for one will miss hearing their original songs like "Snow Song," "Retrospect," "2L,"Cheerful Infinity," "The Test," as well as their Arcade Fire medley.

But nobody listens to mom. They will, hopefully, be back in the swing of things in March.

Mod Rocket, an all-girls punk band from Manhattan was incredible, too. It’s hard to believe they are just 15-years-olds. The lead singer can really sing and all the others are amazing musician,  too. I just found their list of their influences on their web site:

Bowie, The Stooges, Velvet Underground, MC5, Joy Division, Nine Inch Nails, Ramones, T Rex, Sonic Youth, Siouxsie, Jesus and Mary Chain, Pigface, Suicide, Big Black, Skinny Puppy, Bjork, Nirvana, Cream, New York Dolls, Patti Smith, Lenny Kaye, Radiohead, My Bloody Valentine, Smashing Pumpkins, The Jam, The Clash, Black Sabbath, The Cure, Television, The Smiths, Legendary Pink Dots, The Swans, Teenage Jesus And The Jerks, Lydia Lunch, The Who, The Damned,Gang Of Four, Black Flag, Minor Threat, Fugazi, Depeche Mode, Bob Dylan, Thin Lizzy, PJ Harvey, The Cars, White Stripes, Talking Heads, New Order, Adam Ant, KMFDM, Bauhaus, Sisters Of Mercy, Alien Sex Fiend, Rozz Williams, Christian Death, Alice Cooper, The Byrds, The Doors, Big Star, Janes Addiction, Butthole Surfers, Stones, Mudhoney, Melvins, Manson, Interpol, Velvet Acid Christ, Throbbing Gristle, Slint, Slayer, The Cramps, The Beatles, Misfits, Neil Young, Zeppelin, Sleater Kinney, Pavement, Malkmus, Iggy Pop, Echo And The Bunnymen, Bikini Kill, Jefferson Airplane, Kraftwerk, Fantomas, Tomhawk, Lords Of The New Church, AC/DC, KISS, Pink Floyd, Killing Joke, Tool, A Perfect Circle, EinstÃ

Monday morning and the mystery of whether that is Mary on the flap of Paul Auster’s new book has finally been solved. It’s her, it’s her, it’s her. I can tell this is going to be a great week. Here’s the missive from Mary.

I finally bought "Brooklyn Follies."  It ISN’T me holding the beach ball on the front cover because, as Austin Powers would say, "That’s a MAN, baby." (In addition to be much photographed throughout my life, I have been mistaken several times for a man in real life. Seriously. Despite lipstick.)

However, if you look at the back flap, (near the author’s portrait) there is a woman in a black jacket and light jeans. And I am 99 percent certain it’s me.

I bought the book at Seventh Avenue Books and told the owner as he rang it up that I thought I was on the flap. He looked and agreed it might be me. He then asked for $25.07. I gave him $26.00 and said I didn’t have any change. He said, "Well, seeing as I’m running out of change and you are a celebrity, I won’t charge you the seven cents."

So, being on the Auster back flap is paying off all ready. If I carry the book around with me, will I get free drinks at local establishments? Perhaps Second Street Cafe will give me a half-priced coffee.

At home, I took out a magnifying glass. Under magnification, I still think it is me. And my husband and four-year-old think so too. My 2-year-old also has declared, "That’s Mama." Unfortunately she was pointing to the photo of Paul Auster. "That’s a man, baby!"

I need to get a copy of Paul Auster’s "Brooklyn Follies" to my friend Mary because I think she is pictured on the cover. I saw her yesterday at Maggie Moo’s and asked her if it’s her on the cover. She didn’t know a thing about it. I told her that I’d posted about it a few weeks back.

I loved that you stopped in at Maggie Moo’s to tell me about the Brooklyn Follies cover. The kids were running in too many circles from their ice cream high for me to focus on what you were saying. Now that I’ve read your post, I’m blushing. Thanks for calling me "very nice" (in the post).

Still, Mary isn’t sure whether it’s her picture on the cover. Oddly and coincidentally, she’d had her picture taken for Time Out Magazine on the same Second Street corner and she thought that was what I was talking about. Who knew about her busy modeling career.

As far as the photo on the Auster cover goes–it wasn’t the one I thought it was. The one I told you about that was taken on the 2nd street corner was taken of me and my husband and supposedly appeared in Time Out–although I didn’t follow the issues closely enough to see it. And I wasn’t carrying a beach ball as "I" am on the Auster cover-but my husband was carrying a huge bag of brickettes.  I haven’t been able to run out to the bookstore to scrutinize the Auster cover tonight. Looking at a close up view on Amazon has been inconclusive. I have to say, it does appear to be me!

I am also pretty sure that it’s Mary. I assumed she knew about it and had signed a release or something. The fact that she was unaware of the picture being taken adds another element to the story. I thought it was particularly interesting because Mary is a writer (she and I met in Tim Tomlinson’s fiction writing course at the Writer’s Voice). Since she moved to Park Slope a few years back, we’ve had regular chitchats about writing, children, work, and other Park Slope-ish matters.

I’ve always wanted to write an essay about the strange places your image could appear without your knowledge (think of those group photos taken in restaurants–with your table in the background.) Once, when I was dining at Ellen’s Stardust with a friend, the waiter (whom I had never seen before) said "What will it be, Stacey and Mary?" After we completely freaked that he knew our names, he said he recognized us from a photo he saw in Chicago when he was staying with a friend of his–who was also a close friend of ours–who mentioned (I guess several times–since he remembered them) our names.

The oft-photographed Mary is going to let me know soon if it’s her on the cover. But even if it’s not, she’s still a big deal in my book. In addition to the care and feeding of two kids, she writes daily at the Park Slope Writer’s Space and has a story coming out later this year in a webzine.

I’ll let you know what I think after I see the real cover! And, thanks for asking, my story is coming out in a 2006 issue of Paper Street. (A small lit mag based in Pittsburgh).

I am quite smitten with the just-out CD from Cat Power, "The Greatest." Cat Power is the performing name of the critically raved about Chan Marshall. I was expecting a more raucous album — it’s called Cat Power, afterall.  Instead, it’s an ambient, moody, slow-speed and eclectic voice-piano-strings soundscape with songs that convey the poetic wisdom of a love-worn life.

Marshall has a endearing world-weariness that calls to mind a low-energy Lucinda Williams with a little Memphis R&B and shoo bop thrown in for good measure.

Check it out. Sound Track and Music Matters has it in stock.

This appeared last January 25th on the old OTBKB:

There wasn’t even a word for depression in Sri Lanka
until a few years ago. Not that they didn’t need it. Doctors there say
that people express their unhappiness by having pain, back aches, or
difficulty sleeping. And by commiting suicide. Apparently, Sri Lanka
has one of the hightest suicide rates in the world.

In New York there must be 40 words for depression. If not more. 

Sri
Lanka, with a population of 20 milliion people, has only about 30
psychiatrists. Very few of them speak the language of the Meulaboh
region, which was badly hit. Needless to say, therapy is not a common
activity in that part of the world. Unlike New York City, the Sri
Lankans are not held together by the loving thread of trained
therapists. Not to mention Zoloft.

There must be thousands of therapists in Brooklyn alone. 

No,
a stop at the shrink’s office is not a weekly occurrence in Sri Lanka.
How spoiled we are in New York City where the examination of one’s
navel is considered a necessity not a luxury. And yet, Smartmom
believes that navel examination truly is a form of preventive health
care. In so many ways, New Yorkers benefit from their weekly
exploration of self. Without it, Lord help us: New York would be a
whole lot more neurotic and/or psychotic than it already is.

Just imagine New York without therapy.   

But
in other parts of the world, there’s just too much else to do — like
survival — to have time for such things. Religious institutions
probably do their part. Buddhist meditation is just one example of a
spiritual practice that is, in its way, deeply psychological in nature.

The people of Sri Lanka are a stoic people with a strong belief
in god’s will, and a different (maybe better) relationship to death.
Even in a crisis of this magnitude, they carry on. Call it denial, call
it pragmatism, they are grieving quietly and privately while rebuilding
their lives. What other option do they have?

And yet, grief and
trauma can wreak havoc on people’s lives. Experts have observed that "
suicide rates drop in times of crisis but then bounce back up again –
to higher levels than they were originally," writes Denise Grady in the
New York Times.

Mental health experts the world have made
offers of help. But the Sri Lankian government is asking them to stand
back and respect the nature of the Sri Lankan culture. They believe
that the deep religious beliefs of the Sri Lankans and their strong
sense of community and family will help them through this tragedy. And,
in most cases, they are probably right.

One Sri Lankan
official quoted in the Times said that "too many irrelvant, inept,
strange ideas from other countries could do disservice to tsunami
victims." He was especially adamant that de-briefing, a technique where
disaster victims are encouraged to talk about traumatic experiences
after a disaster, would be especially harmful.

Smartmom is
familiar with this argument. She has been working with the FDNY since
December 2001 on a newsletter for the families of those who lost loved
ones on September 11th. After the WTC disaster, firefighters were
debriefed and urged to talk about the tragedy in great detail —
apparently it helped them a lot. They were also encouraged to partake
of the free counseling services available 24 hours a day at the
Counseling Service Unit.

After 9/11, many health care
professional from around the world offered their services to the FDNY.
Fairly quickly, the FDNY realized that mental health professionals
without the proper understanding of the fire department culture could
do more harm than good. Over time, the FDNY expanded its counseling
staff in order to provide appropriate care for those who were suffering
from various degrees of post-traumatic-stress and grief.

Firefighters
are also a stoic lot with a strong sense of family and religious ties.
For them, therapy helped them with the on-going grief and stress. At
first it was hard to convince those who are used to helping others that
they needed help. But many of them came around because they were
suffering so much. And their recovery was fairly rapid once they went
in for counseling. There’s no telling how much alcoholism, drug
addiction, spousal and child abuse, and suicide were avoided because of
this.

So, Smartmom wonders how the Sri Lankans will fare
emotionally. What of the parentless children, the parents who lost
their little loved ones, those who saw whole communities die — how
will they get through this? Is it true that this community will be able
to escape "post traumatic-stress" simply because of their cultural
background?

There is no one-size fits all solution to recovery
from tragedy. A person’s mental health prior to the event, resilience
and resourcefulness must all be taken into account. People are very
unique in the ways that they heal; in how they like to take care of
themselves.

Smartmom is grateful for her weekly trips to her
therapist, her shaman, the man who helps her "see." Her problems are
fairly minor compared to those of people in other parts of the world.
But still, she believes in the value of self-examination and is
thankful that she has the option.

Everyone needs help from time to time.   

I ran into A at the Chip Shop recently. She is doing very well. The new house is still being renovated. But they have more space than they ever imagined. A lovely mother and her two teenage children have moved into A’s apartment.

A, Smartmom’s neighbor of nearly twelve years, is moving out today. She is
finally moving into the brownstone she bought and renovated on Ninth
Street. The movers came last week and yesterday she had her final
apartment sale. Strangers were coming in the building all day to pick
through baby clothes, toys, children’s book and kitchen utensils.

Smartmom
is sad to see A go although they never really connected as friends.
They were, however, good neighbors. Whenever they saw each other they’d
say hello, inquire about one another’s children and ask how life was
going. On occasion they helped each other out. A would ask for
Smartmom’s help in small ways: Can you let the exterminator in? Can
Hepcat fix my computer? Do you mind lending us a copy of "The Great
Gatsby," my son has an English paper due?

Smartmom always kept a copy of A’s key just in case. That sort of thing.

Hepcat
once asked A, who is a lawyer, for legal advice. It was years ago
when he was signing an intellectual property clause on an employment
contract. She was extremely helpful and forthcoming with information
and names of specialists in that field.

When A’s great aunt
died, Smartmom invited her in for a cup of tea. She was,
understandably, feeling out of sorts and said it was strange to be home
alone with such sad news. A told Smartmom all about her Aunt, who was
an inspiring and loving figure in her life. Smartmom checked in a few
times to see how she was doing. She seemd to appreciate that.

But,
for the most part, Smartmom kept a respectful distance. You know that
old adage: Fences make good neighbors. It applies to emotional fences
too. Maybe because of this, unkind words never passed between them. A did once rightfully complain about some boxes that Hepcat left in the
hallway. But other than that, she never once complained about noise or
anything else. And that’s exceptional for nearly 12 years of living
side by side.

Smartmom observed A’s life from a neighborly
distance. A divorcee, she dated various men until she met the wonderful
one who smokes a cigar, who is now her partner. Her son, who was only 6
or 7 when Smartmom moved in, is now a handsome, buff, and friendly high
school junior.

For years, Smartmom has seen his dad drop him
off at the building after their mid-week afternoon and evening
together. Smartmom has discerned tension between A and her ex on
these drop-offs. Smartmom always smiled supportively and then looked
the other way.

Smartmom knew that A and her new partner were
hunting for houses for over two years. A asked Smartmom to be
discreet around the landlord. When they found the house they are moving
into it was only supposed to take a few months to renovate. It took
much longer and A kept Smartmom posted on the construction snafus.

Now
this family of three is ready to move into their new home. Smartmom
doesn’t quite know how to acknowledge the move. A glass of champange, a
modest gift, a card wishing her every good wish? It seems important
somehow to honor this transition, this move from one place to another,
this loss.

It’s not enough just to wave goodbye.

Last February, a group of people rented out the Brooklyn Lyceum and had a dance. It was a great idea and I wish someone would do that again. Anyone interested?

Last night Smartmom and Hepcat partied like it was 1986 and what a
night it was. They could have been in Area, the Tunnel or the
Palladium, but it was the Brooklyn Lyceum, the classical style public
bath that’s been transformed into a theater and performance space on
Fourth Avenue.

But really, they were years away from those
fabled night spots of the mid to late 1980’s and their younger selves.
In the here and now, the room was filled with middle-aged Park Slopers
who looked pretty darn good in their Saturday night best dancing to an
incredible mix of funk, rap, hip hop, and soul. Tom Tom Club really got
the room moving as did Madonna and other old favorites. But there were
newer sounds by artists they’d never heard of too, and they sounded
just as good.

Yet, it wasn’t a nostalgic night for pretending
to be young or revisiting the past. No, it was a bunch of people acting
their age — boldly and happily expressing themselves in free form
dance; shaking their hips to the rhythms of the night. There were
couples, singles, friends, and strangers joyfully dancing together.
People were sweating, stripping off layers of clothing; just content to
be out on a cold February night away from children and the daily
details.

When the clock struck midnight, there was a
Cinderella moment in the room. Many had to get home to babysitters and
sleeping children. Smartmom and Hepcat said their good byes and got
their coats from the coat check. Walking up President Street toward
Fifth Avenue and home, they could still hear the propulsive bass
leaking out of the Lyceum’s windows. The music was beckoning them to
the dance floor for one more dance before they turned into pumpkins
again.

The original Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn (OTBKB) began on September 18, 2004 on Blogspot. But it was different then. There was no No Words_Daily Pix, no Scoop Du Jour, and no Postcard from the Slope.

The old OTBKB, which is sporadically updated, is now called Third Street . It features the adventures of Smartmom, Hepcat Daddy-O, Teen Spirit and the Oh So Fiesty One, as well as other local characters. Smartmom now has her very own column in The Brooklyn Papers.

The new OTBKB started on January 31, 2005 (see first post of that below). Here’s the September 18th post of the old OTBKB.

This morning, Smartmom took care of some recent kitchen problems. The
old man who fixes stoves came by to fix the oven which hasn’t been
working in weeks. Later, the cheerful exterminator stopped by. Smartmom
told him about the wheat moth problem but he said there’s nothing he
can do about it — he specializes in roaches and mice. "You got to go
to the sauce," he said. Smartmom thought he meant that there was some
sauce that is especially delicious to wheat moths. Actually, he was
saying THE SOURCE in thick Brooklynese and pointed to a box of rice,
and other boxes of grains. "If you see nests in there, they gotta go in
the garbage," he said. Note: Smartmom had already thrown out ALL open
boxes of grain and had emptied and scrubbed the cabinet. She’s also
using Pantry Pest traps bought at the PARK SLOPE FOOD COOP.

–I started OTBKB almost one year ago
–I was inspired by Debbie Galant, the Barista of Bloomfield Avenue, a Montclair/Glen Ridge,  New Jersey blog.
–I met her at a Bat Mitzvah.
–I thought what she was doing was cool. It made me think: I wanna do that, too. For Park Slope.
–She told me to go with Type Pad and was very generous with information.
–My friend Toby Fox designed the site and the logo. She came up with the funny icons.
–My husband helped with the many technicalities.
—My husband started No Words_Daily Pix in the first week of OTBKB
–It’s been a great way for people to see his photographic work
–I wanted lots of people to read OTBKB
–I NEVER imagined how many people would read OTBKB
–Laura Eveleth at the Barista of Bloomfield Avenue encouraged me to get advertisers. She told me how to do that.
–I got advertisers. I want more.
–People know all about me now.
–There are still a lot of things people don’t know.
–I think OTBKB has been a good thing.
–Actually I know OTBKB has been a good thing for a lot of reasons.
–I’m not sure what to do next,
–The one year mark seems a good time to reflect, to regroup, to rethink
–I feel good about this
–It’s been nice to "meet" all the other bloggers out there.
–Feels like we’re a community: Come to the First Brooklyn Blog Festival on June 22nd at the Old Stone House
–Thanks to all the readers of OTBKB.
–Thanks for reading and responding.

WHAT is Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn, you may ask.  And WHY am I doing this?

ANSWER: Not sure just yet.

It remains to be seen what this needs and wants to be. In the
meantime, I will continue to be the all-eyes, all-ears,
all-around-the-Slope interested busybody; a social anthropologist, if
you will.

Observing, being alert to the details, passing on important
information, I want to give  you a wiff of the neighborhood zeitgeist,
the mood that’s in the air.

Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn will also include vital links to
information about: schools, services, parking, retail, food, books,
movies, local artisans, writers, artists, activists, friends and
neighbors.

Down the line there will be advertising, school,
community, and cultural events in the neighborhood. Don’t be surprised
if you see shops and services advertised, as well: I need to pay the
rent (email me for advertising information).

Keep reading as things evolve. And please send your observations and YOUR notes about what makes the Slope tick.

I’d LOVE to hear from you.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB

   Just saw this on the Brooklyn Public Library web site:

5th Annual My Brooklyn Photo + Essay Contest

Brooklynites

A year ago, a 10-year-old Markita Nicole Weaver, was crushed to death in Red Hook:

What started as a makeshift memorial on a corner near Public School 15
where Markita Nicole Weaver last dove into a snow bank to make angels
still stands a year after the 10-year-old was dragged and crushed to
death.

About 25 stuffed animals, mostly Teddy bears, are tied to the iron
fence surrounding the elementary school, at the intersection of Wolcott
and Richards streets. A Tigger doll, faded to a peachy orange,
straddles one of the bars, while a white bear hangs in a clear plastic
bag, gripping a red heart that proclaims "I love you." Deflated
balloons dangle limply, and a crate of candles and plastic flowers sits
on the sidewalk by the fence. Among the toys, a laminated note reads,
"I just wanted to thank you for the things you did for my daughter,
Markita. From her mother." READ MORE AT B61 PRODUCTIONS