It’s been a festive few weeks — one celebration after another. June is always busy for: Hepcat. Manhattan Granny, Teen Spirit birthdays all in a row.

But this year with my 30th high school reunion, the Baltimore wedding (pictured left) and my mother’s important birthday we’ve been drinking an awful lot of  champagne.

I think I’m partied out. Which isn’t to say that I haven’t enjoyed each and every party to the  fullest (see picture left).

Because I did. Thoroughly. Yes, I feel blessed to have so much to celebrate: great family, great high school memories, the marriage of a beautiful cousin.

celebration = good

But still, I am looking forward to a few boring weeks.

I had the pleasure of attending a double husband/wife birthday party on Saturday night at the Old Stone House. The house was decorated beautifully by Christine Murphy Fine Art Decorating with colorful saris, tiny Christmas lights, and handmade chandeliers.  There were pictures of the birthday couple as children and through the ages. Votive candles lit the room

She was turning 50, he 60. They moved to the Slope, with their now 8-year old son, five years ago from San Francisco and the crowd was a mix of new friends and old. A large number of friends and family traveled from California, Texas, and elsewhere to celebrate with them.

An hour or so into the party, a young man called everyone to attention. "I’m not sure if you’ve been told but you’re about to have a SWING DANCE LESSON!"

A moment of panic ensued about this dancin’ surprise. But most in the crowd obediently assembled into couples and this young man began teaching the crowd to swing dance. Hepcat shoulder kept him from dancing so I partnered up with a woman whose husband seemed to mysteriously disappear (he has a knee injury).

Within a half hour we were really flying, twirling, twisting, and doing the swing thing. It was great, great fun. A fabulous idea for a party.

The music aged upwards as the evening progressed and by 11 p.m. Madonna, Abba, and other 1980’s faves were blaring from the speakers. The West Coast visitors were the most  uninhibited dancers of all — soloing within a circle of friends.

If 40 is the new 30, the 50 is the new 40 and 60 is surely the new 50.

The party was a melange of many ages – all conversing, connecting, twisting and turning: a group of revellers who are re-define "aging" in a most inventive and inspiring way.

A friend sent pictures of Saturday’s Dan Zanes‘ concert (see left). Thanks!!!

Another friend, Reliable, said that the show got off to a slow start when a representative from Develop Don’t Destroy spoke for ten minutes. The crowd got impatient: hundreds of kids in a hot space in the Williamsburg Bank building don’t take well to grown ups blah blah blahing. Apparently, the grown ups tried to clap her off the stage.

The kids were primed to hear Zanes, not listen to talk.

Then some kid got up on the stage and read a poem. "No one wanted to boo the kid," said Reliable Friend. But the kids wanted Dan.

Develop Don’t Destroy advisory board member, Steve Buscemi, followed the child-poet and made it short and sweet — but even he, funny as ever, could not cheer the crowd up. Woo. Not even Steve Buscemi. Dats not good.

According to Reliable Friend, Zanes was great, though there were a lot of instrument changes in between songs. He said his kid wanted to hear the upbeat, spunky stuff from the video and in the second part of the show, Zanes picked up the pace and the kids were happy.

Reliable Friend mentioned that Dan Zanes will be at the New Victory Theater on 42nd Street for a limited engagement in the fall or spring. Look out for that, friends.

photos by David Caplan

This from our friends at New York 1.

Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn is one of the city’s great venues, but it’s not very people friendly. Now, a number of groups are coming together to try to change that. NY1’s Milanee Kapadia filed this report.

Grand Army Plaza, the gateway to Prospect Park, is adjacent to the Brooklyn Public Library, and the juncture of the borough’s major roadways; Prospect Park West, Flatbush Avenue and Eastern Parkway.

But pedestrians say getting to the Brooklyn landmark is no cakewalk.

"It’s definitely a nuisance, and it can be scary if you try to cut any corners and cross the street in a different place,” says Brooklyn resident Tom Brock. “Then it’s definitely risky, because there’s traffic coming from several different directions."

It took Tom 10 minutes to navigate his way through two crosswalks, traffic lights and a median.

Now, a coalition consisting of community groups, local institutions and elected officials have come together to make Grand Army Plaza less of a roundabout and more an easily accessible public space.

“These great opportunities have completely been cut off in little islands where people, like Eskimos, have to jump from one ice floe to another,” says Jan Gehl, an urban quality consultant. “The middle here where you have fountains and other nice things, there are no one."

Gehl is working with the coalition to figure out solutions to the plaza disconnect. He came up with a number of plans, such as building a tunnel under the plaza for cars. But it is the most expensive option.

“Or more lower cost solutions such as improved signal timing to allow pedestrians more time to reach the plaza, to re-channeling traffic so that there is actually a dedicated pedestrian walkway or connection to the park," says Paul Steely White of Transportation Alternatives.

The GAP coalition says it may take years before a final plan is chosen and implemented.

Pedestrians say they are willing to wait for the day when getting to the plaza is not equivalent to navigating the Indy 500.

“I think it’s definitely a good idea,” says pedestrian Mark Zaharis. “I think it is a nice spot, it’s a beautiful fountain, it would be nice for people to come through here and not worry about much if you’re walking.”

To check out some of the coalition’s plans, visit www.transalt.org.

The weather couldn’t have been worse but the event was terrific. And the turnout wasn’t bad considering the thunder and lightening storm that erupted just in time for the show.

Charlotte Maier’s performance as Marilyn Monroe was funny, sad and utterly compelling.  She did three short monologues, excerpts from an interview Marilyn Monroe did a few months before she died.

Albert Mobilio read a brilliant essay called "Scratching Tom Ewell’s Itch" abut the male character in "The Seven Year Itch." That was followed by Lisa Shea’s lyrical and touching piece about Marilyn Monroe’s singing voice.

Michele Madigan Somerville read a poem, written for the occasion, about a turtle she had as a child named Marilyn, that ended in a virtuosic outburst of passionate language.

Melissa Pierson and Yona Zeldis McDonough were equally wonderful. And the evening ended with a frothy white frosted birthday cake accompanied by Marilyn on CD singing, "Happy Birthday Mr. President."

A great, great evening.

(Wrote this quickly early Friday morning before going on a trip. The spelling errors have all been fixed.)

OSFO woke up at one this morning throwing up. Hepcat is generally assigned "Vomit Patrol" because (I think) he is less grossed out by puke than I am. (He grew up on a farm, afterall). I My job: offering support and, eyes closed, rubbing her back. He did a great job cleaning and disinfecting the hallway. Kudos to Hepcat. Another great shift on "Vomit Patrol."

Hepcat and I were up most of the night on OSFO-watch. For much of the night I squeezed next to her on her twin bed. She was very brave and wonderful. But, dang, I hate to see her suffer at all.

OSFO and I ended up in the living room watching a Power Puff Girls DVD.  OSFO was on the couch, I was on the floor wrapped in a quilt. By the time there was some blueness in the sky, she was feeling better.

Still, she’s home for the day…

Needless to say: Hepcat and I didn’t get much sleep. I just went out for all the "Vomit Patrol" basics, the stuff my mother used to give me when I had a stomach virus: Saltine Crackers, ginger ale, cocacola, and, for when she feels up for it, Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.

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."

In a concert on Saturday June 24th at 4 p.m., bass-baritone Jan Opalach will present a recital at the Grace Church in Brooklyn Heights to benefit Brooklyn’s Habitat for Humanity.

Opalach, a friend of my friend opera singer Amy Burton, will sing songs by Charles Ives, J. Guy Ropartz, and Edvard Grieg.

      Jan Opalach’s voice has been described as "lyric," "flexible," and
      "displays a wonderful variety of color." He is one of America’s most versatile
      performers on the operatic stage today. Combining serious musicianship with
      excellent acting skills, Mr. Opalach is highly regarded for his superb understanding
      of a broad range of musical styles and eras. He is also well known for a
      repertoire which includes both serious and comic character roles.

The Red Hook Fairway
opens today, a 52,000-square-foot store is biggest in the
four-location empire.
Fairway Comes to Red Hook [Gothamist]
Fairway Opens in Red Hook [NY Sun]

A couple of Saturdays ago, I was interviewed by Luke Crisell, a very likable English writer for New York Magazine. He e-mailed me that he was going to be in the neighborhood and that he wanted to talk to me about PAUL BETTANY.

He actually came all the way to Third Street from Cobble Hill and we sat on the green plastic chairs at the green metal table and talked. And he’d really done your homework. "You were quoted in the New York Observer saying that ‘Park Slopers are very protective of their celebrities,’ what did you mean?"

We talked. He didn’t know where the JenPaul mansion was and I didn’t tell him – trying to respect the boundaries of my neighbors. But from looking at the story he seemed to have found it anyway.

As he left, he asked me not to say a thing on the blog about the piece and I obliged. I enjoyed our conversation. When he left, my neighbors ran up to me exictedly, "Who were you talking to?"

The house that Paul Bettany shares with his wife, Jennifer Connelly, their 2-year-old son, Stellan, and Connelly’s 8-year-old boy, Kai (from her previous relationship with photographer David Dougan), is one of the most beautiful in all of Park Slope. Nestled on a shady corner opposite Prospect Park, it is distinguished without being ostentatious. Its Ionic columns and great arched windows seem typical rather than showy. The garden—the disrepair of which was once, Park Slope blogger Louise Crawford tells me, a cause of consternation for some neighbors—is now a well-maintained torrent of tulips in varying shades of oxblood, peach, and white. If Brooklyn isn’t so much the new Manhattan as the new Los Angeles—with soundstages and backyards, Heath and Michelle—then Paul and Jennifer are the Park Slope equivalent of Hollywood royalty: attractive, connubial, and (that most compulsory of qualities among the borough’s celebrity contingent) reserved without being recluses…

and later in the piece:

“We’re proud they’ve chosen to live here,” says Crawford. “She’s the
beautiful Brooklyn girl [Connelly was raised in Brooklyn Heights] made
good who bought the nicest house on the hill, and he’s . . . well, a
signpost of blond, gorgeous Englishness.” They’re the kind of couple
that would rather go to their son’s school play than Bungalow 8—poster
parents for this brave and weird new world of Brooklyn stardom.
“Listen, if I turn up to a premiere, it’s because I’m in it or my
wife’s in it, and I smile and have pictures taken and do the whole
show-business thing. But that’s it: We aren’t courting attention. I
don’t feel like if you become an actor you sign some Faustian pact
where you give up your private life.”

To read the rest of the article click here…

Continue reading MY QUOTE AND THE GORGEOUS PAUL BETTANY IN NEW YORK MAG →

Here’s this week’s Smartmom from the Brooklyn Papers

Last week, Hepcat woke Smartmom at midnight.

“Opal’s dead,” he said, his voice thick with incredulity and pain. We weren’t expecting it. “You never expect these kind of things,” he said.

Opal Abu Opalina was a beautiful white rabbit with random black spots. Smartmom and Teen Spirit bought her four years ago at Petland Discount on Fifth Avenue near 12th Street. They were in search of a guinea pig to replace Serena, Teen Spirit’s beloved pet, who died under mysterious circumstances while the family was vacationing in Cape Cod.

In the back of the pet shop, Teen Spirit became enamored of a dwarf rabbit, so before she knew it, Smartmom was flipping her MasterCard and purchasing a rabbit, a cage, rabbit bedding, food, rabbit vitamins…

Once home, Smartmom did an Internet search on “rabbits as children’s pets” and found this rather disconcerting information on rabbits.org:

“Many people are surprised and disappointed to find that rabbits rarely conform to the cute-n-cuddly stereotype in children’s stories. Baby bunnies (and many young adult rabbits) are too busy dashing madly about, squeezing behind furniture, and chewing baseboards and rugs to be held.”

It was too late. Teen Spirit named her Opal and the Oh So Feisty One added Abu and Opalina. Within an hour, Opal was an established member of their household.

But rabbit.org proved to be an oracle. Opal was cute, certainly, but not cuddly. In the first year, she was an anxious rabbit capable of scratching those who were foolish enough to try to hold her.

Eventually, she settled down. A bit. By day, she was Zen-like, calmly sitting in her cage, or drinking from her water bottle. But at night, she’d run from one end of her cage to the other — punctuated by an occasional flip. In the city that never sleeps, Opal didn’t either.
And then she was gone. In the hours after Opal’s death, Hepcat and Smartmom lay in bed talking. “Do you think she was happy?” Smartmom asked Hepcat.

“Well, it’s not like she wrote a blog or anything. But I think she was happy,” he said.

Smartmom told him how sad and scared she felt. Hepcat sighed a lot.

“Growing up on a farm you’re probably used to this kind of thing,” Smartmom said.

“You never get used to this kind of thing,” he replied. But he did fall asleep fairly quickly.

Smartmom lay awake wondering how to tell Teen Spirit and OSFO. She knew “closure” was important when a pet dies and that
something like this could unleash an onslaught of questions about mortality and the fragility of life.

When Smartmom told Teen Spirit about Opal’s death the next morning, he pulled the quilt over his head and refused to come out, saying, “I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay home and sleep and be sad.”

When The Oh So Feisty One heard the news, she marched right into the living room “Why are her eyes open?” she asked. Smartmom was amazed how fearlessly she stared into the dead rabbit’s cage.

“She’s in a better place now,” she said.

Later she made a makeshift memorial and placed a sprig of lilac next to the cage. “Do you think we took good enough care of her?” she asked.

In the meantime, Teen Spirit was distant and blue. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. And when Beautiful Smile (the babysitterandsomuchmore) called to console him, he refused to speak.

Teen Spirit and Hepcat both withdraw when they are feeling emotional. Conversely, OSFO, like Smartmom, tends to express what she is feeling — even when she doesn’t know exactly it is that she feels.

When he got home from the Edgy Startup, Hepcat and OSFO took Opal down to the backyard (more like an alleyway, a place they rarely go). “We buried her with her food and her alfalfa bedding,” OSFO told Smartmom. “She should be very comfortable down there.”

Probably the person most affected by Opal’s death was Hepcat, who enjoyed her companionship late at night when he was working at his computer in the living room. She’d jump up like a puppy when he entered the room and thrust her snout toward him for petting. Days after her death, Smartmom noticed a far away look in his eyes from time to time. While he didn’t say a thing, she knew he was thinking about Opal.

Then she remembered what he said the night she died. “You never get used to this kind of thing.” You never really do.

These kind words from my friend, Mary Warren.

Mothers… this love is for you who should be celebrated every day.

I want to wish you all a warm and wonderful Mother’s Day.  I don’t know of any group of women who deserves to pat themselves on the back more than you do, ladies.  Every single day you are in the trenches, doing for your kids what they can’t do for themselves, sacrificing so that their needs are met, and, in general, kissing the boo-boos and making them all better, and keeping the bogeyman at bay.

This is not an easy task that we mothers must undertake.  Oh, no. The instruction manuals were conveniently tossed out when our adorable packages arrived in the delivery room.  What we got were crying, needy and hungry babies who grew into sweet-faced tikes with potty mouths, and tyrannical teenagers (some of us even have annoying adult children who still won’t do what we tell them to).  But they were our kids and like Play-doh, we got to shape them into whatever we wanted.  Of course, that didn’t always take, but who’s stopped trying, right.

And let’s face it, kids are selfish. It’s what they do. I know.  I’m a kid.  My mother has had to put up with my nonsense for some time now.  I am sure she would be delighted if I’d grow up and quit causing so much ruckus.  Some day I plan to grant her that wish.

The fact is my mother — just like you and just like me — wouldn’t have it any other way.  She  loves me from the tip of my flawed head to my toes.  And I am the better person for it.  I have learned so much about goodness and truth from my mother; I only hope that i am one-tenth of the mother to my son that she has been to me.  If so, my son will be one lucky kid.

A mother has to wear so many hats and they all have to look good, d*mnit.  A mother is chief cook and bottle washer.  She is a medic, a banker and a handyman.  A mother is a mechanic, an artist, a technician and a teacher.  She is a fixer-upper, a picker-upper and a giddy-upper.  What can’t a mother do?

You, ladies, my friends, my sisters, my mothers, you are all that and a bag of chips.  Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

I love you all.  I’m proud to be one of your club.  And I hereby commend you for doing your duty, doing it well, and doing it with love in your hearts and smiles on your faces. You’re the best.

–Mary Warren

Lots of letters, including one from Alan Berger, Director of the Brooklyn Free School, to the editor of the New York Times City Section.

To the Editor:

"I’d build a free school everywhere,"
replied several students to the morning circle question at Brooklyn
Free School. One wonders why they would want such a thing after reading
"Land of the Free" (May 7). Your article missed the joy and investment
that all Brooklyn Free School members have in this learning community.

You depicted a school where students seemed bored and unhappy, parents
were nervous and critical, and only students from "well-educated"
families thrive. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Students
wake their parents up to go to school and are cajoled into leaving come
dismissal. Parents are brought to tears knowing their children are
finally appreciated for who they are, and are happy and empowered.
Students of all ages, abilities and backgrounds live and learn together
with a real stake in their own education and community. Students have
the gift of time; no bells or tests limit the studies they pursue or
the freedom to ask "why?"

Alan P. Berger
Director, Brooklyn Free School
Park Slope, Brooklyn
This letter was also signed by the other staff members of the Brooklyn Free School.

•

To the Editor:

We have an 11-year-old daughter at the Brooklyn
Free School and a 14-year-old son applying for the fall. One important
factor never mentioned in your article "Land of the Free" is the
spirit-crushing state of education offered by every other school in the
city.

After years of watching our children become increasingly
bored, disillusioned and overworked, all for test prep and busy work,
we’re delighted to see our daughter come home from school excited about
learning, feeling powerful and in charge, and finally having time to be
a child rather than a future middle manager.

Sara Bennett
Joseph Holmes
Park Slope, Brooklyn

•

To the Editor:

In your article about the Brooklyn Free School,
the founder, Alan Berger, gets it right: "If you learn how to learn,
you can always pick up the content later." Mr. Berger gets several
other things right by allowing students to take ownership of their
curriculum and to allow them to teach one another.

In my
practice as an instructor in a graduate program for teachers, I have
been known to say, "If I ran a school, there would be no classes, no
tests and no grades." This leads into a discussion, often heated, about
many current edu-speak buzzwords: alternative assessment,
child-centered curriculum, project-based learning and the like. In Mr.
Berger’s vision, we see the seemingly impossible: a school with none of
the standard-issue approaches to assessment. I applaud his efforts.

Al Doyle
Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn

•

To the Editor:

Engaged students can and should take a leading
role in both the form and the content of our education. Yet the
Brooklyn Free School takes this goal to an extreme, sacrificing
practical skills and knowledge in the process.

The school I attend, Bard High School Early College, provides a more realistic compromise.

It
offers several seminar-style classes in which, at the start of each new
text, portions of the readings are divided up among the students and
each of us then takes on the responsibility of presenting our reading
to the class, taking the text in whatever direction we desire.

Give
students engaging subject matter and place them in charge of where they
want to take it. An engaged student body need not come at the expense
of reading, writing and arithmetic.

Stephen Kahn Bonnett
Park Slope, Brooklyn

•

To the Editor:

As a parent of a student at the Brooklyn Free
School, I have a very simple way of evaluating how well the school is
working for my daughter.

I work out of my home, and every
morning at 9 my daughter drags me out of the house with excitement and
enthusiasm so that she won’t be late for the morning meeting.

How many parents can say that about their children?

Blake Holden
Park Slope, Brooklyn

Also from DOPE ON THE SLOPE. WHY IS RATNER AFRAID OF BLOGGERS?

Norm Oder, the most thorough and perhaps the most thoughtful
journalist covering the Atlantic Yards project was barred from a press
conference this morning where Frank Gehry was to unveil another
iteration of his "design" for the instant neighborhood that Forest City
Ratner wants to install on top of Prospect Heights.

Why was his presence unwelcome? Superficially, it appears that he
was barred due to the fact that he’s a blogger. As Norm himself writes
at Atlantic Yards Report:

The FCR press release hinted that a journalist who writes a blog wouldn’t be welcome:
Please
note that this press conference is open to reporters with valid press
credentials. If you do not have press credentials, we require a request
from the publication that you will be representing. The request on
letterhead should be faxed to 212.981.5449.

What’s a valid
credential? And what’s a letterhead? I faxed a request on my own
letterhead, but that wasn’t enough for Ratner. Jeffrey Lerner, a Dan Klores Communications Senior Account Executive, politely but firmly told me "the decision is final."

And is a blogger a journalist? Well, not everyone, but journalists who write blogs are still journalists. And, as Matt Welch wrote
in 2003 in the Columbia Journalism Review, bloggers contribute
"personality, eyewitness testimony, editorial filtering, and uncounted
gigabytes of new knowledge."

I am so sorry that Frank Gehry compared his building to a bride. Talk about a comment that’s going to come back and bite you in the ass. "When we were studying Brooklyn, we happened upon a wedding, a real Brooklyn wedding," he told the crowd at the high-security press conference on Thursday. “And we decided that Miss Brooklyn was a bride.”

I don’t think he did himself any favors with that metaphor. (Brooklyn wants a divorce from Ratner, the marriage is annulled, the honeymoon is over…)

Gehry showed off the latest renderings in a large third-floor space in the Atlantic Center.
       
Miss Brooklyn is a curvy aluminum-clad
        tower, with a 120-foot glass-walled atrium called “the Urban Room,” a hotel, office space and condos will occupy the rest of the building.
       
"She’s a bride with flowing veils," Gehry said. He admitted that maybe he was getting carried away. "But I fell in love with her.” he added.

Full disclosure: I’m a big fan of Frank Gehry’s work. He is an architect I truly admire. In fact, years ago my father and I drove around Venice, California in search of all the  Gehry-designed houses. We were on the lookout for chain link fencing – that was always a clue – and Gehry’s own house (above). We particularly loved the beach house he designed for a writer that looks like a lifeguard’s perch (pictured left). I even ate dinner at Rebecca’s, the restaurant he designed in Santa Moncia, with the huge fish mobiles that were inspired by the gefilte fish his grandmother used to make.

When he introduced his "Easy Edges" furniture made out of hockey stick material. I  convinced my mother to buy one of the cool glass tables with the bentwood legs.

And Bilbao, I was blown away by that vision in titanium. My husband’s mother and sister even made a pilgrammage to that small Spanish city to see the Gehry-designed Guggenheim there.

Closer to home, Hepcat and I toured the Richard B. Fisher Performing Arts Center at Hepcat’s alma mater, Bard College, in Annandale-on-Hudson,  devouring all the interesting details of that building.

So you can imagine that I was excited to hear Gehry was going to be designing a building in Brooklyn. In Brooklyn. As a big Gehry fan, I was thrilled.

But then…

…I began to comprehend what Forest City Ratner had in mind — a basketball stadium, 17 high rise office buildings and condos, a development that  would threaten to change the character of Brooklyn and create enormous traffic problems, I  began to think that Ratner was  using Frank Gehry’s reputation as a way to get people like me to support the project. Ratner, whose first development in Brooklyn — the Atlantic Mall — is an eyesore, has very little credibility in the architecture department. So pulling the Frank Gehry card was inspired, to say the least.

Much as I love Frank Gehry and much as I’d love a Frank Gehry building in Brooklyn, I am not unconditionally in favor of anything Gehry does. A stadium? That’s not the Frank Gehry building I was hoping for.

What I am hoping — perhaps too optimistically — is that the building pressure from the citizens of Brooklyn and groups like Develop Don’t Enjoy and No Land Grab, etc. will force Forest City  to modify their ridiculously bloated project into something a lot more appropriate, a lot more contextual.

It sounds like Gehry may be responding to some of the criticism of his project. "The original designs got a little carried away," he admitted at the press conference. But the buildings do have a connection to the texture of the existing buildings."

Then he added: "Yes, the buildings will exist, but we are going to create usable spaces, not awful plazas, [that reflect] the body language of Brooklyn."

I really, really respect the guy. Clearly this is a project close to his heart. What architect doesn’t dream about creating a city from scratch. The trouble is: Brooklyn doesn’t need a city within a city, a skylline within a skyline. It already is a city filled with landmark architecture and one-of-a-kind beauty. It’s just not the right blank canvas for Frank Gehry.

Something has to happen over by the Atlantic Yards. It is a blighted stretch that deserves to be enhanced. But not with a development plan, Gehry or no Gehry, that threatens to harm the quality of life in Brooklyn.

A documentary about Frank Gehry opens today in NYC

Sketches of Frank Gehry

Directed by Sydney Pollack;
directors of photography, George Tiffin, Claudio Rocha and Marcus
Birsel; edited by Karen Schmeer; music by Sorman & Nystrom;
produced by Ultan Guilfoyle; released by Sony Pictures Classics.
Running time: 83 minutes. This film is not rated.

In the days after the wedding, Callalillie did some pretty awesome blogging. Here she reflects about the 20 minutes before her wedding when she watched from above as the wedding guests trickled in. Here I go again: voyeuristically gazing at strangers. But I feel like I know them from her blog. And they are such a cute couple.  MAZEL TOV CALLALILLIE AND LEXI.

It is pretty amazing to watch this. I had never thought about it
before, but it is. In those twenty minutes, I felt as though I was
watching a gently shaken snow globe of our life. In groups, pairs, and
one by one, pieces of our lives mingled and then took their seats and
from above it was like viewing each of our histories swirl softly about
like petals in the wind. Old friends and family members who had not
seen one another in years embraced. Those who did not know one another
shook hands and smiled. No matter who each guest was, they were there
for one reason– Alexis and me. From the room up above, this suddenly
clicked and my anxiety was gone, replaced by a different kind of
exhilaration– pride. On that day, at that hour, I was surer of our
marriage than anything else I had ever encountered in my life.

HERE’S WHAT WE DID LAST YEAR ON MOTHER’S DAY. Diaper Diva was Mamainwaiting then. My, how things have changed.

What did the women of Park Slope do on Mother’s Day 2005?

I caught my downstairs’ neighbor hiding out on a bench outside the
Mojo reading "New York Magazine," while her husband prepared a Mother’s
Day feast. She looked blissed out and serene. "I’m afraid to go
home," she said. "Afraid there will be something I’ll have to do."

A mother I know dug joyfully into the dirt of her Third Street stoop
garden planting geraniums and flats of other annuals. There was dirt
beneath her fingernails and a  look of utter contentment on her face.

Wherever
I went, women wished one another, "Happy Mother’s Day," looking pleased
that some attempt was being made to indulge them, to give them a break
from the usual routine.

We had a late mother’s day  brunch at
the Stone Park Cafe, where more than one table had a young baby
strapped onto a dad while a mom ate her brunch undisturbed — happy to
be allowed to finish her food without stopping to appease baby.

There were many multi-generational parties: toddlers, mothers,
grandmothers, even great grandmothers smushed together at tables in
that crowded restaurant that recently earned two stars from the New
York Times.

The staff looked exhausted, eager for the day, considered by many to
be one of the busiest restaurant days of the year, to be done. The
restaurant was chaotic with loud rock ‘n roll blaring: the music an
obvious ploy to get people to eat quickly and leave.

At our table, a fast fight broke out between my mother and sister:
something silly, no doubt. Probably a perceived slight. It threatened
to escalate like wild fire but something intervened: god, the universe,
common sense. Maybe it was just the drink order. Civility was restored
before everyone was even aware of what had gone on.

Mamainwaiting appreciated my gift of a newly revised version of Dr.
Spock’s famous, "Baby and Child Care:" a little light reading before
her trip next week to Russia, when she and her husband will meet their
nine month old baby girl for the first time.

When Teen Spirit saw the book he thought it might have something to do with Spock from Star Trek.

Bro-in-Law  made a toast to all the mothers at the table,
including Mamainwaiting,  "the mother to-be."  To which my mother added:
"Mamainwaiting, as the blog says!"

Here, here.

Late in the day, Mamainwaiting and I drank Chardonnay in her living room
and looked through a box of her photographs. There were pictures of my
son, now a big teenager, as a newborn, a toddler, at his 6th birthday (a
Beatles party), and my daughter, now 8, as a newborn, at her first
birthday, naked on a Cape Cod beach, and on and on…

"It all goes by so fast," I said sounding like every other mother in
the world. "Enjoy it while it lasts," again stating the obvious cliche.
But in that moment, clutching a handfull of fantastic memories, it felt
unbearably true.

There’s a new blog on the block called Gowanus Lounge. He got in touch with me today and I was glad to hear about it because his blog looks GOOD and there are  a lot of GREAT pictures on there. (see left).

GL wanted to hear about THE FIRST ANNUAL BROOKLYN BLOG FESTIVAL on June 22 at 8 p.m. (hope to see all of you there), which I am organizing at the Old Stone House in Park Slope.

To give you an idea of what GL is up to, here is an excerpt from his introductory post (from April 2006).

 and stories that feature a
strong sense of place.""Welcome to the Gownanus Lounge, the culmination of months of rumination, if not
planning. It will seek to cover, through words and pictures, whatever
moves me, with a particular focus on New York City.  The focus will be Brooklyn–and particularly Gowanus, Red
Hook, Carroll Gardens, Park Slope, Prospect Heights, Williamsburg and
Dumbo–with frequent excursions into Queens, especially Long Island
City. Manhattan, too.

Up front: While I am a realist about what
cities need in order to survive and thrive, I am not a fan of what is
happening in our communities, and particularly of the looming
Manhattanization of Brooklyn and of the ongoing Theme Parkization of
Manhattan. The blog side of Gowanus Lounge will be joined, some months
down the road, by a literary magazine intended to feature the work,
especially, of Brooklyn-based writers,

WELCOME TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD, GOWANUS LOUNGE. WE’RE GLAD TO HAVE YOU.

Mayor Bloomberg announced a six-month pilot
program to begin June 5 to reduce traffic in Prospect and Central Parks. Woo hoo. This from the NY Times.

Moving to further reduce traffic in city parks, Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg
announced yesterday that stretches of Central Park in Manhattan and
Prospect Park in Brooklyn would close to cars under a six-month pilot
program to begin June 5.

Under the plan, vehicles will
no longer be able to use the East Drive of Central Park north of 72nd
Street during weekday mornings or the West Drive in the afternoons. In
Prospect Park, drivers will lose morning access to the West Drive,
which runs roughly parallel to Prospect Park West.

"For many
years people coming to Prospect Park or Central Park for recreation
during weekdays have had to share road space on the park drives with
automobiles," Mr. Bloomberg said in Prospect Park as he announced the
changes.

"These new regulations will be especially welcome for
the cyclists, joggers and in-line skaters who use the park drive and it
should also make entering and leaving the parks safer for pedestrians."

The
changes come as public pressure to ban park traffic entirely has been
increasing and as the City Council is considering a bill, introduced by
Councilwoman Gale A. Brewer, that would mandate a trial of more
comprehensive restrictions. But Mr. Bloomberg said that although he
might personally like to see such a ban, it was unrealistic because of
the congestion it would cause on surrounding streets.

"It would
be better if you didn’t have cars in parks," he said, adding that it
would create chaos to ban traffic completely during the morning and
evening rushes.

Officials estimated that 865 vehicles would be
affected by the Central Park closings and 357 by those in Prospect
Park. By contrast, Mr. Bloomberg said, on weekdays 70,000 people use
Central Park and 15,000 use Prospect Park.

In Central Park, the
West Drive will be open to cars only between 7 a.m. and 10 a.m., while
the East Drive north of 72nd Street will be open only from 3 p.m. to 7
p.m. From 72nd Street to 57th Street and the Avenue of the Americas,
the East Drive will continue to be open from 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. In
Prospect Park, only the East Drive will be open from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m.,
while both the East and West Drives will be open between 5 p.m. and 7
p.m.

Dan Zanes sings out against the Atlantic Yards development project. He is headlining an anti-project next month (details to come). "My opposition is about saving the soul of Brooklyn," he told Gersh Kuntzman at the Brooklyn Papers. "Everything I do is about community—in my case the spirit that comes from making music. That’s what Brooklyn means right now."

SUMMER WIND BY DAN ZANES

Take a left on Kane Street
Another one on Henry
Take a look around us
Up the hill and down again
Hand in hand
We’ll be feeling grand
When we wander in the summer wind

I’ll take you to the river
Maybe down to Red Hook
Eat a few tamales
Over by the soccer games
Basketballs are flyng
over by the schoolyard
I hear the breeze
Call your name

High and low
People tht we know
They say "Hey there"
and "How’ve you been?"
Good, good, good
And do you think you would
Like to wander in the summer wind
We can take the F train
Right up on Ninth Street
Walk to the Park
To where the steel drums play
Dance around in circles
With anyone that we meet
All this could happen
on a summer Saturday

Pix of Dan Zanes and a young fan by EMWI

It is four in the morning. Hepcat and I are awake – each at our own computers. We just watched "History of Violence." I fell asleep early in the evening and woke up at midnight. Hence, energy to watch a movie and blog…

Hepcat is chortling to himself, laughing hysterically, reading stuff out loud and laughing some more. All because he’s reading a very funny web site called Improv Everywhere. 

Thanks to Famdoc for bringing this to my attention. Tom Lee, a beloved PS 321 first grade teacher (my daughter recently studied bookmaking with him during Super Saturdays), is having an art show at the Cocoa Bar. Famdoc had this to say about the work of his friend, Tom Lee.

My good friend (and popular 321 teacher) Tom Lee has an exhibit of artwork at The Cocoa Bar (Seventh Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets). An opening reception is slated for Thursday evening at 8 PM with a meet and greet the artist.  Tom uses a variety of media, including pastels, oils and watercolors and achieves a unique finish by applying wax to his works.  His subject matter is mostly landscapes and he is inspired by the natural beauty of coastal Maine, where he has a second home and where he spends summers teaching art at a summer.

Don’t miss the show. And stop by to see the artist on Thursday night.

Brooklynization Progress Report

Check out how Brooklynized Dope on the Slope has become since moving to Brooklyn four years ago. On the other hand. there’s still some stuff he’s adjusting to. Also Kudos to Dope on the Slope for what is an excellent blog. Here’s an excerpt:

It’s been four years this week since I moved to Park Slope from Knoxville,
Tennessee, so I thought I’d give a quick update on the Broolynization
process.

When people find out I moved up here from the South they usually
respond "gee, that must be quite an adjustment." While I’ll agree there
are some signficant differences, for the most part, what motivates
people down there is pretty much the same as what motivates people up
here. Both regions have similar aspirations and values when it comes to
what they want from life – health, wealth, and security.

However, there are two main points of difference that I have
observed. The first is in tastes, which is expected given the different
regional histories and ethnic composition. The second is in the
assumptions people make about what the best way to go about solving
community problems or securing the good life for themselves and their
families. I think this can be explained almost entirely by differences
in population density and the relative importance of the automobile to
daily living.

One thing you can’t do in New York City, no matter how wealthy you
are, is to maintain the illusion of absolute independence from the rest
of the community.  People living in less dense areas probably don’t
think too much about the web of interconnections that keeps the lights
burning, the potholes fixed, the garbage collected, and food on the
grocery shelves. I know I didn’t. The systems that make all of that
happen are largely invisible.

READ MORE AT DOPE ON THE SLOPE

Tuesday morning: There’s a five-alarm warehouse fire in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, which is sending black smoke throughout Brooklyn and across the Williamsburg Bridge. It may be spreading to other warehouses.

END THE WAR: On Saturday thousands protested the war in Iraq in New York and around the country.

END THE GENOCIDE IN DARFUR: On Sunday,  protesters shouted, chanted and sang in Washington, bringing world  attention to the  ravaged Darfur region. "When part of our community is dying, we are all dying," Rev. Jennifer Kottler of Protestants for the Common Good told the crowd in Federal Plaza. "The dying must end." They protested a campaign of destruction and displacement that has scourged Darfur since 2003, leaving more than 200,000 dead and millions homeless.

SUPPORT OUR IMMIGRANTS: Immigrants all around the country staged protests, human chains, and
boycotted work to
influence the debate in Congress over granting legal status to all or
most of the estimated 11 million illegal immigrants in the country.

So what’s planned for Tueday? A remarkable three days. Amazing.

–the people
—the workshop
–the bluest skies
–starfilled nights
–peeking out the window at dawn
–lying on a hammock by a brook
–my PRIVATE room
–the silent breakfast buffet
–decisions, decisions: What will it be: fresh fruit, muffins, cheese, eggs, croissants, homemade muffins, fresh orange juice, granola, coffee, herbal tea…
–Athena/Medusa
–a hike on the Appalachian Trail to a waterfall
–Our festive dinners
–not having to clean up after meals
–the purple dining room with candlelabras and Victorian furniture
–dreams (mine and others)
–being playful
–feeling sad
–laughing
–moving
–dancing
–listening
–writing
–finger painting
–sewing
–feeling my calf muscles after the hike
–reading Edith Hamilton’s Mythology also: Mishnah’s The End of Suffering, Lillith Magazine, the New Yorker
–missing my kids, Hepcat
–getting away
–coming home
–Knowing that I’ll never be able to explain it all
–memories of what I heard, what I saw, who I met

Here she is: Smartmom in this week’s  BROOKLYN PAPERS.

The oldest daughter of Smartmom’s rich cousin in Baltimore is getting married in June — a black-tie wedding — and Smartmom’s clan is in tizzy about what to wear.

For Hepcat and Teen Spirit, a quick trip to a tuxedo rental will do the trick. That is, if Teen Spirit can be convinced to abandon his worn-in leather jacket and holey jeans for a few hours. He’s just like his dad, who considers a black T-shirt from Target and black Old Navy jeans to be dressy. Wonder how their Merrill slip-on mocs will look with the formal wear?

Needless to say, being 9-going-on-20, the Oh So Feisty One loves a party dress. Last week, she, Smartmom and Diaper Diva subwayed to Macy’s to find the perfect dress for the occasion.

That subway ride to Midtown might as well have been a train trip back in time for Smartmom, who dreaded sharing this particular rite of passage with her daughter. When Smartmom was a child, buying clothing with her mother was pretty traumatic. Her mother always had strong ideas about what she could and could not wear. And every trip to the dressing room became a referendum on what Smartmom didn’t like about the way she looked.

Ah, the prickly issue of self image. Smartmom envies OSFO her fashion sense and the fun she has dressing. Since she was a toddler, OSFO has always been opinionated about clothing. And Smartmom always let her decide what she wants to wear (no “Mommy Dearest”-syndrome, here). Consequently, the OSFO is much more comfortable with her own sense of style and the way that she looks.

The three determined shoppers averted the make-up department, where swarms of women converged on them like bees with small bottles of perfume, en route to the eighth floor.

Once there, it was clear that OSFO had an extremely clear vision of what she wanted. She scanned all the girls’ party dresses in an instant.

“These are too princessy,” she said waving dismissively at one display area after another.

And she was right. Too frilly, too frothy, too frou-frou, most of the dresses were more suited for an Easter service than a sophisticated Baltimore wedding. As far as OSFO was concerned, they were way, way off base.

Then Smartmom spotted the tween prom dress department. “How about this?” Smartmom asked, holding a yellow-and-green patterned dress. “Too fruity,” she said. And this one? “Not right for a wedding.” OSFO replied with an assurance way past her years.

“What about these?” Smartmom was holding up two or three perfectly acceptable choices. “I like them. But not for this wedding.”

This wedding? Smartmom wondered.

Then OSFO made a bee-line for a dress — a cross between a ballet tutu and something a tad more burlesque. Tight black elasticized top, light pink, tulle skirt with an uneven hem. Diaper Diva looked a little skeptical.

Smartmom knew it would be either really great or completely tacky.

OSFO and Smartmom crowded into the small dressing room with a thicket of hangered dresses. Diaper Diva was dispatched to the shoe department to search for appropriate footware. The sexy tutu was the first thing OSFO wanted to try. Tight on the top, frilly on the bottom, it actually looked pretty terrific. Smartmom pinned up OSFO’s hair and she was a vision to behold.

“I think this might be it,” Smartmom thought to herself. But OSFO looked at herself quizzically.

“What does ‘slutty’ mean?” she asked staring at herself in the three-way mirror. Ah. Ah. Ah. Smartmom stalled not sure what to say.

“Why do you ask?” she stammered.

“Because I heard [Diaper Diva] whisper that the dress might be slutty,” she said.

“Oh. She meant … sexy,” Smartmom said nervously, OSFO continued to stare at herself in the mirror and then pulled the dress over her head and reached for another hanger. And so it went, dress after dress.

“Nope,” she said pulling off a pink dress that looked utterly stunning. Finally, a white chiffon dress with faded flowers met her approval. “I’ll need the right shoes,” she said.

But still she persevered. A half-hour later, the room was awash in inside-out dresses as a half-naked girl surveyed the mess.

“I like these two,” she said, picking two out of the pile. “One for the wedding. One for the dinner party the night before.” Where she got the idea that there might be a dinner party the night before is anyone’s guess. She’s probably right.

Truth is, she selected the two most perfect dresses — and the sexy tutu wasn’t even in the running.

No big fights, no fits, no yelling matches. Once the dresses were selected, OSFO tried on every pink shoe in the shoe department and settled on a pair of jeweled slides. As they waited to pay for their booty, Smartmom and Diaper Diva reached their department store saturation point and were in dire need of double mocha latte frappucchino macciatos and a similarly sized Advil. Still, Smartmom was proud of her girl. That OSFO, she thought. She sure knows what she wants and she’s damn good at finding it.

I found Heath Ledger to be tremendously attractive in Brokeback Mountain—and the scene in the tent with Jake was as arousing to me as any movie sex scene I can think of. And he just keeps getting better and better.

There is nothing sexier than a man who takes good care of his children and SHOPS FOR GROCERIES and cooks. According to the Hollywood Star, Heath is loving his life as baby Matilda’s dad:

"My life right now is, I wouldn’t say reduced to food, but my duties in
life are that I wake up, cook breakfast, clean the dishes, prepare
lunch, clean those dishes, go to the market, get fresh produce, cook
dinner, clean those dishes and then sleep if I can. And I love it. I
actually adore it."

The Cobble Hill resident reportedly took his five-month-old daughter along to a tattoo parlour in Brooklyn last Sunday (with fiancée Michelle Williams), where he was having a tribal design etched onto his forearm as mother and baby looked on.

A friend shared an incredible Heath, Michelle and Matilda sighting. But I wil NEVER EVER EVER TELL.  They are authentic and good people and real members of the community they are living in. Where they were sighted bears this out in a very moving way.

Waiting at Gate 13 in Port Authority for my bus to Sheffield, Mass. to leave, I asked a woman to watch my bags while I went to the bathroom. When I got back we started talking. She was on her way to Stockbridge, Mass to attend a reunion of the interesting and progressive boarding school she attended many years ago. The school no longer exists (like the Upper West Side progressive high school that I attended).  I asked her if she’d like to sit together and we sat in the roomy bulk-head seat of the bus and talked for three and a half hours without stopping. She a composer, who  developed a program called, "Lullabies for Free Children." Here is the project description of this fascinating idea. She received an unexpectedly huge number of responses and produced 6 CD’s of lullabies. They will soon be available for purchase.

Composers from all cultural and language backgrounds throughout the world, are invited to compose unaccompanied or accompanied lullabies based on lyrics or text which encourage positive ideals and positive values for the 21st century. Our global collection of "Lullabies for Free Children"  will be available as a "virtual library" located on personal computers throughout the world.  This music can be accessed by request directly from the composer. Lullabies may be in any language and in any style from unaccompanied solo song through a symphonic lullaby without words. Composers are encouraged to seek poems from young girls and boys, from unknown women living in remote areas, perhaps your own poems or the poems of your own child or a student, as a source for the creation of song. Everyone involved in the Lullabies project will be donating their compositions and performances to the project in the effort to plant seeds for a better world.

Through initiating global musical collaborative projects, such as "Lullabies for Free Children", based on simple, deep, and universal ideas, it is hoped that opportunities for international participation will inspire diverse composers, especially women, throughout the world. As the project develops, if you are in Europe, feel free to collaborate with a composer or poet in China; if you are in Canada, feel free to seek out and collaborate with a woman in South America; let us try to connect the world in the spirit of freedom, hope, and love of deepest truth. The project will continue till the end of 2006.

The Daniel Pearl Foundation will be celebrating Daniel Pearl Music Days, dedicated to “Harmony for Humanity” October 1 – 10, 2005 in October of 2006, and has generously offered Global Satellite Radio Broadcast of some of the Lullabies. These broadcasts of recordings of Lullabies will launch our Lullabies for Free Children project to the global community. This is a wonderful opportunity to collaborate in achieving a global voice dedicated to making the world a better place through music. The Daniel Pearl Foundation, formed by Daniel’s family and friends, is a non-profit organization that promotes cross-cultural understanding through journalism, music and innovative communications.

For possible inclusion in upcoming October broadcast,
please contact project coordinator

SHELLEY OLSON, composer,
shelley_olson@hotmail.com

For more information about Daniel Pearl Music Days please visit:
http://www.nab.org/Newsroom/PressRel/Releases/4303.htm

http://www.danielpearl.org/

Daniel Pearl Music Days uses the power of music to promote cross-cultural understanding and reaffirm our commitment to humanity.  Anyone can participate by dedicating a pre-scheduled musical concert or a song, or by organizing a special event, as part of Daniel Pearl Music Days with a statement from the stage or in the written program in support of tolerance and humanity.  Please visit:
http://www.music-days.org/

"Lullabies for Free ChildrenTM" was developed by composer Shelley Olson for IAWM (International Alliance for Women in Music).

There was a big stink in Brooklyn yesterday (so what else is new?). Did you smell it? I, fortunately,  did not smell it,  I was away — brag, brag — in the Berkshires basking in nature, lying on a hammock, enjoying an almost perfect early spring day in the country.   

According to NY1, fiery tar is being blamed for Sunday afternoon’s propane tank explosion
on the roof of the 84th precinct in Brooklyn. Sorry I missed it (ha ha).

Fire officials say that tar being used by workers on top of the
downtown Brooklyn station house caught fire, boiled over its kettle and
set the roof on fire, igniting 3 propane tanks that exploded.

The fire was brought under control quickly. 

There were no injuries, though the tanks did go flying through the neighborhood with one landing on the off ramp of the BQE.