NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD
What’s Next for Coney Island
The city is taking the next step in the development of Coney Island.
The Department of Housing and Preservation announced Tuesday it will start taking bids for a building design for city-owned land near Surf Street. The project will include a community center and apartments, 20 percent of which will be set aside as affordable housing.
Coney Island, here we come…This from NY1.
Last year, Mayor Michael Bloomberg announced his plans to revitalize the area using city-owned land and turn it into a year-round tourist attraction.
Proposals that meet the needs of the community while requiring the least subsidies will be given preference.
The city will contribute $5 million to the project, which it hopes to break ground on by the end of next year.
A meeting on the proposals will be held on Wednesday. The deadline for submission is July 12th.
SMARTMOM: REUNION BEAUTIFICATION
Here’s this week’s Smartmom from Brooklyn Papers.
On the day of the 30th high school reunion of the Walden School (a
progressive private school on the Upper West Side that no longer
exists), Smartmom spent many hours beautifying at the Frajean Salon on
Seventh Avenue.
But even Stephen and the staff at the full-service hair salon/spa
could not make her look like herself at 17, a hippie wannabe who longed
to sing like Joni Mitchell.
(Come to think of it, what the hell was she doing in a hair salon. If she wanted to look like herself at 17, she would let it all hang out, split ends and all.)
The first order of business was highlights. Looking like Hellraiser
with tin foil sticking out of her head, Smartmom laughed. In high
school, she was the brown-haired girl with big brown eyes that all the
boys wanted to be friends with, while Smartmom’s best friend was the
blonde beauty whom all the boys wanted to sleep with.
But for the reunion, Smartmom would have blonde highlights! She knew
that would throw her old high school friends for a loop. Maybe no one
would recognize her.
After the highlights, Smartmom went downstairs for a waxing in a
room with bright examination lights and “soothing” New Age music. Hot
Wax Lady used boiling wax to shape Smartmom’s eyebrows (no Frida Kahlo
unibrow like in high school) and rip off (ouch) the old-lady hairs that
grow from her chin and make her feel like the witch in Hansel and
Gretel.
Then it was time for her toes and feet, which had to look beautiful
because she was wearing gold metallic sandals that made her look six
feet tall. She may have been short in high school, but 30 years later,
she’d be an Amazon.
The haircut and styling came next. After the cut, Smartmom watched
nervously as Stephen got out his hair curler from the bottom shelf.
“Please, I don’t want Farrah Fawcett hair,” Smartmom warned.
“But the 1970s are very big right now,” Stephen said.
“Yeah, but Walden wasn’t that kind of ’70s,” Smartmom said. “We were
very natural back then. We didn’t use make-up, or even shave our legs.”
This piqued the attention of Stephen’s 20-ish assistant.
“You didn’t wear make-up?” she said, shocked.
Clearly, she was too young to know of a time when women burned their bras and rebelled against the feminine mystique.
Finally, Stephen applied the make-up. It made Smartmom so nervous
that she thought she’d throw up — but as he applied a smooth layer of
foundation, he slowly erased 30 years of stress from her skin.
Gone were the lines from 30 years of laughing and crying; the dark
rings under her eyes from a cumulative loss of sleep from all-nighters
at college, 3 am breast-feedings and overheated arguments with Hepcat
about money; the crows-feet next to her eyes that made her think of her
mother; the scowly lines next to her mouth from feeling so much
disapproval and pain; her sallow complexion from spending too many
hours staring at her computer.
When Stephen was done, Smartmom looked great. But later when she and
Hepcat took the F-train to the reunion, she realized that she had spent
more than $300 for an impossible goal: she could never look like she
did 30 years ago because she wasn’t the same person as she was then. For one thing, she would never have spent five plus hours in a hair salon in 1976. Not a chance.
The reunion passed by in a blur of open-hearted, Cabernet-fueled
conversation. Most of her former classmates — financial wizards,
psychotherapists, writers, lawyers, environmentalists, an op-ed editor
of a national newspaper, an opera singer and a dress designer — seemed
to be doing what they wanted to do. Everyone looked great (even if the
men had lost most of their hair) and were as idealistic as ever —
products of a school that taught them to question authority and make a
difference in the world.
Smartmom was moved to tears (and skunk eyes from smudged eyeliner)
when Opera Singer (the aforementioned blond best friend) sang “Our Love
is Here to Say." She even got flirtatious with some of the boys she had
liked back then.
Later, in the cab back to Brooklyn, Smartmom thought about how much
had gone on since graduation: there was college, a career, Smartmom and
Hepcat’s trip cross-country in a 1963 Ford Galaxy; their wedding on a
rainy day in July; the birth of Teen Spirit and the Oh So Feisty One in
a Manhattan hospital.
Back in 1976, you could get a brownstone on Garfield Place for less
than $20,000. It was before the AIDS crisis, the fall of the Berlin
Wall, Bill Clinton, Bill Gates, Bush 1, Bush 2, cellphones, compact
discs, Jimmy Carter, the Intifada (1 and 2), the iPod, the L.A. riots,
SUVs and Tiananmen Square.
Obviously, Smartmom knew she could never return to her 17–year-old
self in the same way that the world can never go back to the way it
used to be.
And then she understood: a high-school reunion is supposed to be a time to honor who you were then and respect who you are now.
And if Smartmom looked 30 years older that was OK. Everyone else did, too.
SUGGESTION BOX
Maybe instead of a Complaints Box, Smartmom should walk around with a Suggestions Box. If you’ve got something constructive to say, just write it down on a small piece of paper and put it in.
Yesterday’s postcard, "Complaints Box" was a pithy exercise in self-flaggelation. Thank gawd for those kind readers who could dredge up something kind to say.
The most WONDERFUL thing that happened was this. I told Teen Spirit about the comment left by an M. Fairfield:
If I was your son I don’t think I’d feel much like confiding in you
either. The thought that any "newsworthy" quirk is fodder for
tomorrow’s blog is a great reason to keep you out of the loop.
And you know what Teen Spirit said. He said, "Tell him to go fuck himself." And I will just leave it at that.
Thanks Teen Spirit. You are the best!
Hepcat’s Satanic Birthday
Ooooh. Hepcat’s birthday is June 6th. Meet you at 6:06 on Sixth Avenue and 6th Street.
June 6, 2006 – or 6/6/06 – isn’t merely the sixth day of the sixth month of the century’s sixth year.
As any horror-film buff or Satanic cult member knows, 666 also happens
to be … (cue ominous chanting) the numeric symbol of the Antichrist,
according to the Book of Revelations.The date has been a godsend for the studio behind "The Omen 666," the
remake of the 1976 horror classic about Damien Thorn, the boy born with
"the mark of the beast," a "666" tattoo on his scalp signifying he’s
the son of Satan.In a devilishly clever marketing move, 20th Century Fox is releasing
the film on Tuesday to coincide with the renewed interest in the
subject.For months, the Internet has been buzzing with doomsayers, Satanists
and religious zealots speculating that June 6 will mark a) the birth of
the real Antichrist, b) the start of Armageddon or c) the release of a
horror flick hopefully not as bad as the two "Omen"sequels of the late
’70s and ’80s.While no sane parent believes they are about to spawn the Devil’s own,
some moms-to-be are admittedly "creeped" about giving birth on June 6."I thought, Ooooo, cool! 6/6/06! But then I was sort of like, wait,
that’s 666! I’m not religious at all, but it sort of creeped me," was a
typical posting on the Mothering Magazine Web site.Another woman worried about putting her son "through the teasing and
torture he most certainly will endure as a teenager" if he’s born on
the sixth.At least some expectant mothers are approaching their Tuesday due date
with humor. The Sunday Times of London reports that one woman plans to
name her son Damien, while another said she would name her daughter
Regan, after the possessed girl in the 1973 film "The Exorcist.""The Omen 666" isn’t the only project taking advantage of the rare
date. Heavy metal band Slayer is kicking off its "Unholy Alliance" tour
on Tuesday, and the mentalist known as The Amazing Kreskin says he will
give a group of New Yorkers "the most frightening experience of their
lives" in a 666-related street stunt."All this talk about 666 is fanning the flames," says Kreskin. "Stupid
people are not the only people who are superstitious. Even the most
intelligent people are gripped by the power of suggestion."
NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD
MEMORIAL DAY BARBECUE
Mr. Kravitz bought the building a new Weber yesterday just in time for our first barbecue of the season. We’ve had two stolen: he bought a lock to lock it to the gate.
A new Weber: we’re not sure how many ways we’re going to split it. It doesn’t really matter. It’s for everyone’s use. And for all the barbecue we’re gonna have this summer.
And if it gets us through the summer, we’re ahead of the game.
"We’re getting very Slopey," Phized said watching over the shrimp kabobs, the Chilean sea bass kabobs and the Fairway meats that were cooking on the grill.
Clearly, this is not a hamburger and hot dogs crowd. Come to think of it, there were no burgers last night. None. Though Hebrew National franks were in good supply. We’ve been doing these potluck barbcues for a few years now and we is getting fancy.
It’s amazing how quickly we pull these barbecue together. It started Sunday afternoon. "Anyone wanna do a Memorial Day barbecue?" A sign went up on the the front door, neighbors from other buildings were invited informally. Bowls of salad, guacamole, hummus were prepared. Corn shucked. Chicken microwaved in advance because everyone is squeamish about undercooked childen. There’s always lots of wine, exotic beers, lemonade in the big red cooler.
Most importantly, the kids make sure their parents bought marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey bars for S’mores.
Who says you can’t make S’mores in the front yard of a Brooklyn apartment building?
Fofolle brought blue and pink straw cowboys hats for everyone to wear. Mrs. Kravitz made a joke about "Brokeback Brownstone," which everyone thought was pretty funny.
You had to be there, I guess.
Every chair in the basement was brought upstairs. It’s an odd assortment: dining room chairs, folding chairs, office chairs, beach chairs. Whatever. There was nothing even vaguely Martha Stewartish about this event. It couldn’t have been less tasteful in its chaotic mish-mash of bowls, chairs, paper plates (leftover from birthday parties), white paper cups, less than artful presentation of meat hot off the grill.
But it was perfect. And the food was delicious. Especially the Chilean sea bass kabobs, which were prepared by a 13-year-old boy who lives across the street, an aspiring chef. A friend of Ravi, our resident sitar player, he wore a white chef’s coat and watched over the kabobs carefully as they cooked on the grill.
Mr. Kravitz started cooking at around 4:00. The party was done by 10 p.m. The clean up went pretty quick. Everything returned to the basement. The Weber cleaned and locked up. The kids, who were still racing their bikes, trikes, and scooters up and down Third Street, were sent to bed.
Everyone went back to their respective apartment buildings on Third Street. Those who came from farther away took car service chariots home.
Afterward, a quiet moment sitting on the stoop, talking and taking in the cool night breeze.
COMPLAINTS BOX
Do you ever feel like everyone in your life is finding fault with you?
It’s an awful feeling. Sometimes I think I should walk around with a "Complaints Box" around my neck so that people can write down their complaints and put them in the box.
I feel like shit.
This morning Hepcat made me feel like a terrible mother because I told OSFO four times this weekend that I was going to smack her. (Just an expression by the way, as in: "If you don’t stop whining I’m gonna smack you!" I really had no intention of hitting her. Too hard. Her whining and "I want, I wants" were driving me out of my mind).
Diaper Diva thinks I’m a fair weather sister. That I’m a user. She says I only call her when I need her to watch OSFO or do something for me. When she needs me I am, apparently, nowhere to be found, or incredibly distracted.
Let’s see, who else is finding fault with me.
Last night at bedtime, OSFO regaled Hepcat with all the reasons she wishes Diaper Diva was her mother and not me. She had quite a list in addition to all the times I told her I was going to smack her.
What else?
Being "snubbed" by the PTA didn’t make me feel too great. Especially since I am so involved with that organization. I feel that I can be part of it even if my opinions are different from theirs. I certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings.
Anything else?
My mother hates my blonde hair. My son doesn’t want to confide in me anymore and makes me feel like an annoying bug.
Do you ever feel like you should wear a "Complaints Box" around your neck so that people can register their complaints about you?
If you have any complaints, feel free to mention them here. (Oh boy I can’t wait…)
NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD
ON MEMORIAL DAY
This from on-line columnist, John Nichols, on The Nation’s blog.
The wisdom of wars can be debated on any day, and this column has not hesitated to question the thinking — or, to be more precise, the lack of thinking — that has led the United States to the current quagmire in Iraq.
But on Memorial Day, it is well to pause from the debate to remember those whose lives have been lost, not merely to the fool’s mission of the contemporary moment but to all those battles – noble and ignoble – that have claimed the sons and daughters of this and every land.
After the bloodiest and most divisive of America’s wars, the poet Walt Whitman offered a dirge for two soldiers of the opposing armies — Civil War veterans, buried side by side. His poem is an apt reminder that, when the fighting is done, those who warred against one another often find themselves in the same place. It is appropriate that we should garland each grave, understanding on this day above all others that wars are conceived by presidents and prime ministers, not soldiers.
It is appropriate, as well, and perhaps a bit soothing, to recall Whitman’s wise words:
The last sunbeam
Lightly falls from the finish’d Sabbath,
On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking,
Down a new-made double grave.
Lo, the moon ascending,
Up from the east the silvery round moon,
Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon,
Immense and silent moon.
I see a sad procession,
And I hear the sound of coming full-key’d bugles,
All the channels of the city streets they are flooding,
As with voices and with tears.
I hear the great drums pounding,
And the small drums steady whirring
And every blow of the great convulsive drums,
Strikes me through and through.
For the son is brought with the father,
(In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell,
Two veterans son and father dropt together,
And the double grave awaits them.)
And nearer blow the bugles,
And the drums strike more convulsive,
And the daylight o’er the pavement quite has faded,
And the strong dead-march enwraps me.
In the eastern sky up-buoying,
The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin’d,
(‘Tis some mother’s large transparent face,
In heaven brighter growing.)
O strong dead-march you please me!
O moon immense with your silvery face you soothe me!
O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial!
What I have I also give you.
The moon gives you light,
And the bugles and the drums give you music,
And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans,
My heart gives you love.
SUMMER SHOWS FOR DAVID KONIGSBERG
David Konigsberg’s paintings will be upstate and in Seattle this summer. If you happen to be in either locale, check out these shows.
Opening June 10: Carrie Haddad, 622 Warren Street, Hudson NY. He has 7 paintings in this 3-person show and he’ll actually be at the opening from 6-8 pm.
June 16: A solo show opens at Ballard Fetherston Gallery in Seattle, 818 East Pike St. (opening 6-8 pm). "Alas, I can’t make it out there, but my spirit will be in attendance."
THIRD STREET CAFE
The Third Street Cafe is open again.
No, no, no. There’s no trendy new establishment on Third Street where the Mojo used to be.
I’m talking about the green metal table in the front yard of our limestone apartment building. Currently we have two green plastic chairs (one mysteriously broken on the seat) and two metal chairs Hepcat found on the street last week.
But the cafe is in full swing. Last night, an assortment of neighbors feasted on whatever was in the fridge; cold Sake, German beer, an assortment of cheeses, cherry tomatoes, and green grapes.
Quite a spread.
Neighbors sat and stood around the green metal table for couple of hours while the kids staged bike, trike and scooter races down Third Street. Our 13-year-old neighbor, Ravi, sat on the stoop and played ragas on his beautiful sitar. He’s only been playing since last summer but he’s gotten really good.
Beaming Bride and Groom, who live down the street, stopped by on their way home from "X-Men" at the Pavilion. They were married quietly last week at City Hall, a cause of great celebration for all those who have been wishing her nothing but the best since her divorce nine years ago. They met on an Internet dating site (yet another sauces story and I know of so many) and they look really happy together. This is the second marriage for her and the third for him. If anyone else says: "Three is the Charm," like the woman at City Hall and many others (including me) he will probably swat you.
There was talk of another romantic coupling, a "Yours, Mine, and Ours" type of relationship on Third Street. Neighbors offered their theories. Were they still together or had things cooled off a bit?
We laughed at ourselves even as the gossip spilled out of our mouths. Stoop sitting and gossip seem so intricately in-twined. You can’t have one without the other. Or can you?
MEMORIAL DAY CLOSINGS
From NY 1: The subways are a bit funky so check out which are running and which are not.
The Memorial Day holiday means most New Yorkers will have the day off, but it also brings some service changes.
Alternate side of the street parking rules are suspended on Monday, as well as garbage and recycling pick-ups.
The courts, and federal, state and city offices are all closed. Financial markets, banks and post offices will also be closed.
City subways, buses and ferries will be running on a holiday
schedule, as well as the Long Island Railroad, Metro-North and PATH
trains.New Jersey Transit will be operating on a Sunday schedule.
To check service changes before heading out on the holiday visit www.MTA.NYC.NY.US.
NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD
JUNE 22: BROOKLYN BLOGFEST: FIRST TIME EVER
JUNE 22, 2006 at 8 p.m. BROOKLYN BLOG FESTIVAL
ONLY THE BLOG KNOWS BROOKLYN PRESENTS: The First
Annual Brooklyn BlogFEST 2006.
Join all your favorite Brooklyn bloggers for an evening celebrating the
Brooklyn blogging and its emergence as a major community source of
information and comment.
There will be short talks/readings by bloggers, displays of
photo blogs and more. Also awards and live blogging. Door
Prizes. This event is for those who have blogs and those who read them
and especially for those who haven’t a clue what blogging is.
This is the first gathering of Brooklyn bloggers. EVER. See what
these people look like. So come to this historical event – the FIRST
ANNUAL BROOKLYN BLOG FEST.
A Brooklyn Life. Daily Slope. Joe’s NYC. Design Sponge,
Dope on the Slope, Lex’s Folly, Brownstoner, Callalillie, Lost and Frowned, Only the Blog Knows
Brooklyn, Develop Don’t Destroy, and more, more, more
JOIN US AT: The Old Stone House. Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets in Park Slope. Contact: Louise Crawford: 718-288-4290. Free. Refreshments.
