NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Domestic Squabble
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Remembering Malcolm X by Laments of the Unfinished, Fitness in the Slope by Elizabeth Pongo
SIDE PANELS_Links to Brooklyn essentials, arts, movies, fitness, recreation, museums, parks, gardens, stores we love and much, much more. Scroll up and down
Fitness Revolution by Elizabeth Pongo
As a personal trainer, here in Park Slope I’ve taken careful note of many an interesting phenomenon. Primarily, the gym is a surreal and extraordinary place. I enjoy the challenge of teaching people new things. And I must admit, sharing the excitement with my clients of learning how to grow and change things inspires me. After all, transformation of a body and growing into a functional, flexible, strong human being is no easy task! Yet,
above and beyond the joy of learning, is the power of knowledge.
But there’s one thing I know for sure, the gym is the school playground of the
middle aged.
If you threaten to take away a baby-boomer’s Social Security, you’ll see that
individual whip his or her self into shape, faster than you can say, "George, that’s a stupid idea." Strength and power come from within.
And the baby-boomers, who grew up during the bloom and blush of the
cultural revolution of the 1960’s and 1970’s are striking back! Have you noticed the biceps on women who work out between the ages of 40 and 60 lately? Now there’s a bunch of women I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. I can just imagine what might happen if someone threatened one of these lovely ladies. The assailant would certainly be beaten down with a bag of organic vegetables.
I
admire the courage, the conviction and the commitment of my clients who
are middle aged. I look up to these people. I am the typical cute
little kid, who befriends the older kids, to make sure that I get taken
care of. What I’ve found is that while I admire their focus, and
encourage them to get stronger, we do end up addressing certain fears
about our bodies, and our selve’s together. That’s the real fun, and
the true catharsis. Looking at a weakness together and learning how to
tackle it as a team, is powerful stuff: the stuff that revolutions are
made of.
There’s
a lot to be afraid of in the school playground, and in the gym. While
some clients are afraid of the gym equipment, other clients are afraid
of the other members in the gym. I made the mistake of asking a client
to mount a stationary bike, before adjusting the seat for her. She replied, "That’s a 15 hand stallion, baby and I’m not getting up there."
People stand around and literally gawk at other people who are doing things that seem too difficult or exotic. This is much the same as the group of kids standing around and staring at the kid doing crazy things on the jungle gym. But all the while, we are learning from each other — no matter how uncomfortable or bizarre it may seem at the time.
Here’s how I see it: the important thing is the evolution of our society. The digital revolution and the information age may not be as exciting as the sexual revolution and the age of Aquarius, depending on your view point. But in order for a society to remain strong and healthy, a cultural revolution must take place every 30 years.
I think we’re in the middle of a new era, and although it may seem odd to run around like gerbils on a treadmill and go inside to an indoor playground in order to workout; these are monumental and surreal and important times we’re living in. And as the adults now, we must embrace that. So I say: play hard and be strong. We’ve got our work cut out for us. The revolution is here again!
Elizabeth Pongo is a stand up comedian and a fitness trainer in Park Slope. She can be reached on her cell phone at (917) 207-3588 or by e-mail: pongofitness@yahoo.com.
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Rejeuvenation
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to Do.
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Remembering Malcolm X by Laments of the Unfinished, Vacation Brainstorm by OTBKB, Fitness Revolution by Elizabeth Pongo,
SIDE PANELS_Links to Brooklyn essentials: museums, movies, theater, arts, recreation, fitness, city government and more. Scroll around and see.
Here
are some ideas for the mid-winter break. For links to the museums
mentioned, look for a list called, Manhattan Arts on the grey sidebar
to your left.
VACATION NEWS FLASH: There’s a Children’s Winter Festival daily
in Prospect Park at the Audubon Center. Daily: Films, Nature and
Crafts, and Storytelling. More information here!
Ice skate_Central Park, Prospect Park, Rockefeller Center, or Chelsea Piers.
Swim_Use the pool, whirlpool and sauna at the Brooklyn Mariott…
Look at Art_The Gates in Central Park, Tim
Hawkinson at the Whitney Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, the Egyptian Wing at the Met, Museum of the City of New York, Retratos: 2000 Years of Latin American Portraits at the El Museo Del Barrio, photographs by Ralph
Eugene Meatyard at the International Center of Photography, show the
kids your favorite old TV shows at the Museum of Television and Broadcasting, show
the kids what it was like back in the ’80s: East Village USA at the New
Museum, Noguchi and Martha Graham exhibit at the Noguchi Museum in Queens right
near Socrates Sculpture Garden…
Theater_25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, Avenue Q, Brooklyn Boy, Wicked, Little Women, Waiting for Godot…
Be a Tourist_Go
grocery shopping in Chinatown or wander around Pearl River, browse art
supplies at Pearl Paint on Canal Street, wander around Times Square,
take pictures on the Coney Island Boardwalk or Brighton Beach, have lunch at Katz’s Deli on the Lower East
Side and explore the neighborhood, tour the Prospect Park, Central Park
or Bronx Zoo…
Just Hang_Sleep late, read books, watch classic
movies, catch up on homework (ha), if the weather permits, take a bike
ride, read a book aloud, do an art project, clean the house together
(ha), nap, clean the rabbit’s cage…
Tip: Everyone spend some time alone.
More ideas needed. Send them in. Best idea wins a PRIZE. Details to come.
February 19, 2005 in Brooklyn Thinkers | Permalink
| Comments (0)
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Smooth Skating
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to Do.
_Eminent domain and American Girl Doll in the news and more…
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Vacation Brainstorm by OTBKB
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Fitness Revolution by Elizabeth Pongo
SIDE PANELS: Links to Brooklyn essentials, museums, arts, parks, restaurants, movies, theater, politics, government, public services, parking, Manhattan arts, Brooklyn blogs, non-Brooklyn blogs, and more. Scroll through it.
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_My Vacation
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff To Do.
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Fitness Revolution by Elizabeth Pongo
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Vacation Brainstorm by OTBKB
SIDE PANELS_Links to Brooklyn essentials: schools,
museums, recreation, arts, theater, music, fitness, services, stores we love,
blogs, non-brooklyn blogs, and more. Scroll down and see.
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_The Race
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to do.
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Vacation Brainstorm by OTBKB
SIDE PANELS: Links to Brooklyn essentials, including public services, schools, parks, arts, fitness, stores we love, Manhattan arts, blogs, non-Brooklyn blogs and more
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_The Borough Next Door
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Events.
VACATION BRAINSTORM_Hot Tips for the Mid-winter Break
SIDE PANELS: Links to Brooklyn Essentials, Arts, Blogs, Stores we Love, Manhattan Arts and non-Brooklyn blogs,
Here are some ideas for the mid-winter break. For links to the museums mentioned, look for a list called, Manhattan Arts on the grey sidebar to your left.
Ice skate_Central Park, Prospect Park, Rockefeller Center, or Chelsea Piers.
Swim_Use the pool, whirlpool and sauna at the Brooklyn Mariott…
Look at Art_The Gates in Central Park, Tim
Hawkinson at the Whitney Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, the Egyptian Wing at the Met, Museum of the City of New York, Retratos: 2000 Years of Latin American Portraits at the El Museo Del Barrio, photographs by Ralph
Eugene Meatyard at the International Center of Photography, show the
kids your favorite old TV shows at the Museum of Television and Broadcasting, show
the kids what it was like back in the ’80s: East Village USA at the New
Museum, Noguchi and Martha Graham exhibit at the Noguchi Museum in Queens right
near Socrates Sculpture Garden…
Theater_25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, Avenue Q, Brooklyn Boy, Wicked, Little Women, Waiting for Godot…
Be a Tourist_Go
grocery shopping in Chinatown or wander around Pearl River, browse art
supplies at Pearl Paint on Canal Street, wander around Times Square,
take pictures on the Coney Island Boardwalk or Brighton Beach, have lunch at Katz’s Deli on the Lower East
Side and explore the neighborhood, tour the Prospect Park, Central Park
or Bronx Zoo…
Just Hang_Sleep late, read books, watch classic movies, catch up on homework (ha), if the weather permits, take a bike ride, read a book aloud, do an art project, clean the house together (ha), nap, clean the rabbit’s cage…
Tip: Everyone spend some time alone.
More ideas needed. Send them in. Best idea wins a PRIZE. Details to come.
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Bracing for the Break
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to Do
VACATION BRAINSTORM_Hot Tips for the Mid-winter Break
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Today’s the Day
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to Do.
VACATION BRAINSTORM_Hot Ideas for the Mid-winter Break
NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_New High School
SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to do.
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Depression Prevention Kit by Red Eft
BROOKLYN THINKERS_Ecstatic February by OTBKN
Depression Prevention Kit by Red Eft
Yesterday, as we ambled along a rail trail next to a mossy cliff
dripping with melting ice, I told my son, "I need to be someplace I’ve
never been about once a week, or eventually I get into a funk."
Winter is long. Here’s what I do to beat the blues.
1. As per above, go somewhere you’ve never been, once a week. At least.
2. Take a good Vitamin B complex. Surprisingly effective.
3.
Don’t ingest news outside of a context that allows you to spit
something back, or disempowerment is always battering at you. I like to
get news from Progressive Secretary letters; all I do is click SEND and I’m complaining to my senators.
4. Aerobic exercise three times a week, some light yoga a couple of times.
5. Meditate daily, even if only for 10 minutes.
6. Get outside every day.
7. Don’t eat wheat or dairy. Keep alcohol & caffeine to a minimum. And sugar.
8. Do something nice for somebody else at least three times/week.
9. Get lots of sleep.
10. Don’t go more than a couple of days without writing, drawing, making music, pretending, whatever.
12. Don’t watch TV. At. All. A movie once in a while is OK, but see that it isn’t a non-redemptive bummer movie like House of Sand and Fog.
13. In the stressful years since 9/11, I have found these healing modalities to be extremely powerful: Energy work with a Barbara Brennan practitioner, Maitri Breathwork, Craniosacral Therapy.
14. Keep a little statue of Ganesh. Powerful fellow!
15.
Listen to dreams, (you knew red eft would say that!) Here’s a good
blues-fighting idea from a dream I had (a woman was speaking to me):
"Imagine
a necklace of fireflies around your neck, each able to transform your
utterances. They remind you that you are light, divine. They protect
you from thinking negative thoughts, saying negative things."
Finally,
if someone is clinically depressed, try not to give them advice or come
up with silly lists of things they can do to turn things around, it’s
very annoy
Ecstatic February by OTBKB
The Gates are one of the best things to ever happen to New York in February.
February: it may be the shortest month, but it slogs on and on.
There’s usually ice, slush or snow on the sidewalks, bitter winter
temperature and face slapping winds. The last few Februarys have seen
city-stopping blizzards that have wreaked havoc on hectic lives.
Years back, when I was experiencing a depressing February, this
song by Dar Williams was on repeat on the CD player in the living room.
Maybe that was part of the problem. But it seemed to express so well
the hopelessness and listlessness of this deep-winter month.
And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."
But this year the color orange seems to be everywhere. Hats. Pants,
Coats, Gloves. And of course, throughout Central Park, orange curtains
are blowing in the wind. The fabric dances and changes color from
orange to saffron to deep yellow in the sun. Enhanced by these bright
orange structures, we see our mighty park through a new frame.
The Gates are an elixir for the mid-winter doldurms, that spiritual
abyss that usually sets in this time of year when everyone is sick of
their down filled coats and hearts are yearning for chirping birds and
the buds of spring.
This city is just so excited about this monumental pick-me-up.
People are throwing parties, taking walks, meeting friends in the park.
A friend threw a viewing party in her Central Park West apartment with
its park-facing windows. An aunt of mine doesn’t even live near the
park, but she invited friends over for coffee and a group pilgrammage
to The Gates.
These events are like Superbowl parties for the Christo-crazed.
What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?
Nobody really knows. It’s never happened before: this is an experiment
in the transformative powers of art. We don’t even recognize ourselves.
Eyes open wide, promenading through The Gates in cold and fair weather,
we’re connecting with all of our senses.
What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?
They swoon. And the world swoons with them.
_NO WORDS_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
_POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Say Cheese
_SCOOP DU JOUR_Weather. News. Stuff to do.
_BROOKLYN THINKERS_Ecstatic February by OTBKN
Ecstatic February by OTBKB
The Gates are one of the best things to ever happen to New York in February.
February: it may be the shortest month, but it slogs on and on. There’s usually ice, slush or snow on the sidewalks, bitter winter temperature and face slapping winds. The last few Februarys have seen city-stopping blizzards that have wreaked havoc on hectic lives.
Years back, when Smartmom was enduring a depressing February, this song by Dar Williams was on repeat on the CD player in the living room. Maybe that was part of the problem. But it seemed to express so well the hopelessness and listlessness of this deep-winter month.
And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."
But this year the color orange seems to be everywhere. Hats. Pants, Coats, Gloves. And of course, throughout Central Park, orange curtains are blowing in the wind. The fabric dances and changes color from orange to saffron to deep yellow in the sun. Enhanced by these bright orange structures, we see our mighty park through a new frame.
The Gates are an elixir for the mid-winter doldurms, that spiritual abyss that usually sets in this time of year when everyone is sick of their down filled coats and hearts are yearning for chirping birds and the buds of spring.
This city is just so excited about this monumental pick-me-up. People are throwing parties, taking walks, meeting friends in the park. A friend threw a viewing party in her Central Park West apartment with its park-facing windows. An aunt of mine doesn’t even live near the park, but she invited friends over for coffee and a group pilgrammage to The Gates.
These events are like Superbowl parties for the Christo-crazed.
What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February? Nobody really knows. It’s never happened before: this is an experiment in the transformative powers of art. We don’t even recognize ourselves. Eyes open wide, promenading through The Gates in cold and fair weather, we’re connecting with all of our senses.
What happens to New Yorkers when they are ecstatic in February?
They swoon. And the world swoons with them.
_No Words_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford
_Postcard from the Slope_Surprise
_Scoop Du Jour_Weather.News. Stuff to do.
with a special Valentine’s Day treat
_Brooklyn Thinkers_Orange Curtains by OTBKB
_Brooklyn Thinkers_Makin’ Valentines by Elswhere
Just Mad About Saffron by OTBKB
We journeyed to Central Park yesterday to see
The Gates. At the entrance at 59th Street and Sixth Avenue,
orange curtains were billowing in the breeze. We walked underneath our first few gates and were swept into the intstant joy of Christo
and Jeanne-Claude’s happening.
The
Gates are everywhere: surrounding the Sheeps Meadow, in
front of the Arsenal at the Zoo, by the frozen lake, in the mall
leading to the Bethesda Fountain. We only got as far as 72nd
Street and there is plenty more to see. There are 7500 of them in all and they fascinate from a distance as
well as up close.
While I was watching my daredevil daughter climb some
rocks, I overheard an "erudite" English woman talking to some
friends. Well dressed and middle-aged, she might have been a professor or an intellectual wanna-be. Hell, she might have been "the real thing.
"Do you think each gate works individually or does it only
work in repetition?" she asked her group.
"Personally, they do
nothing for me," she continued. "It’s really just O.C.D. Art of the
obscesssive compulsive. Much writing is like that, too. Tolkien for
example. ‘The Hobbit’ with all its endless details, it’s really more of
a disability than a work of art."
I wanted to shake this
woman upside down. But I just continued to eavesdrop some more: "Well I guess you
have to call it a sucess. They built it. Thousands of people came.
That’s an accomplishment in itself I guess," she said.
I really wanted to say: "Lady, get out of your head. Walk around. Stand
underneath one of the curtains or on that god damn rock and look at the
view. Notice the way the light hits each gate differently. Experience
the exhilaration of being here. Thank Christo and Jeanne Claude for
this exuberant and experiential gift to New York."
Some people just can’t get out of their own way.
Valentine’s Day Countdown by Elswhere
Late January:
Briefly consider creating homemade valentines with Mermaid Girl: red
cutout hearts, stickers, lacy doilies. Scrap idea after looking at
packed calendar and considering MG’s attention span and fine-motor
development; just writing names on prepackaged cards will be enough of
a project.
February 2, early evening: On a
pre-dinner trip to Fred Meyers, drop MG at playroom and scour the
Seasonal aisle for acceptable valentines. Push past towering piles of
Sc00by Doo, Disn3y Pr1incess, Sp1derman, assorted saccharine-sweet
themes, and seemingly endless varieties of Br4tz cards (3D hologram,
tattoo, naked–hah! just kidding!) to find one box of Eye Spy and one
relatively inoffensive set of He11o K1tty. Swing back to playroom and
present both boxes to MG for her choice. Surprise! (not) She chooses
Kitty. I briefly consider buying Eye Spy as well, just for backup, but
figure there are plenty of cards in just the one box.
February 2, after dinner:
Much excitement about the valentines. With our help, MG
enthusiastically compiles a list of everyone she wants to give them to:
friends from school, closest friends outside of school, baby cousin,
grandparents, Little Latke. I write up the list in block letters so she
can use it to write each recipient’s name herself. I perforate the
sheets and she sorts through the individual cards, cooing over all the
cute little pastel kitty designs and insisting on taking one to keep
for herself. No problem; there are 32 cards. We are rich in cards! And
in time. There’s more than a week to work on them. For once, we planned
ahead! We’re so good.
February 3-12: Valentines? What valentines? We have busy lives, you know.
February 13:
4 PM: RW and Mermaid Girl are out at a friend’s. I remember the valentines, then think, Well, she can work on them tonight.
5:45 PM:
I’m on the other phone with a friend when RW calls: they’re invited to
stay for dinner, do I mind? No, no, of course not, go ahead.
6:00 PM: Oh, sh*t! The valentines!
7:55 PM:
RW and Mermaid Girl return home. They’ve already thought about the
valentines: it’s no problem, MG will just write them while she eats her
dessert cookie.
8 PM: While MG engages in an
elaborate show of cookie-eating and milk-drinking, I read aloud an
abridged version of the list we came up with in the first heady flush
of planning: no grandparents, no cousins, just the school friends she
mentioned. We don’t have time to mess around. She chooses one friend. I
circle the name, help her figure out how to make the letters (it’s a
short name, thank goodness). She writes the name slowly and
painstakingly. She freezes when she gets to her own name: the pressure!
I make a dotted outline of the first letter for her–sometimes she gets
it backwards. I fold the card in half, she pulls a heart sticker off
the sheet to seal it, and we’re on to the next card. This will be just
fine.
8:15 PM: Three valentines down. First
crying meltdown of the evening, brought on when I absent-mindedly seal
one of the cards myself instead of letting MG do it. Fortunately, the
heart sticker comes off easily.
8:45 PM: Eight valentines down: "Write my name for me, Mommy! Please!" [curling up in my lap] "This is a lot of work for one little child!"
9:10 PM:
Thirteen valentines down. MG has a breakdown halfway through the
fourteenth. "You could stop, you know, you don’t have to do cards for
everyone," I say. "No!" she insists. "If he sees the other kids have
one, his feelings will be hurt!" We agree to take a short
sanity-restoring break while she puts on her pajamas.
9:15 PM:
RW and I try unsuccessfully to convince MG that she can stop after the
next card, since she doesn’t know most of the other kids that well. She
is affronted: "I know all the preschoolers!"
9:20 PM:
A pajama’ed Mermaid Girl and I come up with a plan: she will do one
more card in her own hand, for one of her best friends at school, and I
will address and sign the half-dozen others in her name after she tells
me who should get each one. Most of them are for younger kids who won’t
care as much who actually wrote them, anyway. And we’ll still have
plenty left to send belatedly to friends and relations.
9:30 PM:
With all cards addressed and signed by either Mermaid Girl or me, and
with RW on bedtime duty, I count up the completed valentines and
realize that the kids Mermaid Girl has listed constitute most of the
preschool, and that if only the few she didn’t mention are omitted they
may, in fact, feel bad. (The take-home folders are at adult height, so
it’s not like the kids would be looking through them. But still, if
almost everyone gets a valentine, the few who don’t might notice.)
Belatedly, I look through the preschool directory, and discover 10 kids
who were left off her list. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I count
the remaining He11o K1tty cards. There are eight left.
9:40 PM:
back at Fred Meyers, in the depleted Valentine’s aisle, which now
shares space with the newly-stocked Easter section. He11o Kitty is long
gone, as is Eye Spy. I survey the remaining boxes, muttering curses. A
giggly, carefree young couple in their mid-20’s swings by: she’s in the
cart, he’s pushing. They offer advice: "Well," she observes, "there’s
lots of Br4tz cards left." I shudder and make an involuntary noise.
"Yeah," she agrees. "I don’t like them either. They’re like little
prostitutes, aren’t they?"
10:10 PM: Mermaid
Girl is in bed. I show RW what I unearthed. We junk the sappy Pr3cious
Moments cards and go with the puppies-and-kittens themed box. I sort
the cards, looking for the vaguest, least-committing messages: "be
mine!" and "friends forever" cards don’t seem appropriate, considering
she doesn’t even know she’s giving these; I wouldn’t want to lead some
poor 3-year-old on…or am I being too literal?
10:30 PM:
Done. Valentines in a big envelope to take to MG’s school in the
morning. Leftover cards left on the table so we can continue the
torture tomorrow evening, with the belated cards for friends and
relations.
Elswhere and her partner, Renaissance Woman (RW), live in Seattle with their 4-year-old daughter, Mermaid Girl. An honorary Brooklynite, she lived near the Gowanus projects back in 1989 and has been known to surf the PS 321 website just for kicks. This piece can also be found on her blog: Travels in Booland.
Who’s Your Daddy? by Elswhere
Travel tip of the day: everyone will be much happier in the car if you teach your kid to ask "Where are we?" instead of "Are we there yet?" Since "where are we?" is a question that can actually be answered ("We’re in Mount Vernon…we’re near the border…we’re stuck in traffic..") and the only answer to "Are we there yet?" is "No! No! NOOOOO! If we were there, would we still be driving???"
It’s one adventure after another around here these days. We zipped up to Vancouver yesterday and back this evening, and we’re all beat. Mermaid Girl got to see her Uncle Skaterboy, who always makes her completely giddy. For him, she pulls out all the stops, getting cuter and cuter and goofier and goofier until she collapses from sheer exhaustion.
Uncle Skaterboy is no relation to Cousin B. Actually, he’s not even Mermaid Girl’s uncle– he’s her bio-dad, and one of the Renaissance Woman’s oldest friends. I’ve noticed most people use the term "donor," but we started with "bio-dad" when MG was a wee thing; it seems to describe their relationship better. And Mermaid Girl likes it; we’ve overheard her, when some other kid comments that MG doesn’t have a dad, retorting, "I have a bio-dad." It seems to work for her.
In the beginning, the very very beginning, when Mermaid Girl was but a fetus, we refused to answer That Question. And people asked! You’d be surprised how many people we didn’t even know that well asked, or hinted. Or maybe you wouldn’t. We came up with stock answers. My favorite was, "Well, it’s not David Crosby." Renaissance Woman preferred to counter the query "Where’d you get that baby?" with a wide-eyed, "Heaven."
The second-parent adoption went through when Mermaid Girl was six weeks old, and after that we started to relax a little. Not that we’d ever worried that he, or his parents, would rush in with a custody claim, but somehow being legally declared a family took some of the pressure off. After a few months we told Skaterboy he could tell his parents. And were they ever thrilled.
We also told our parents, who had all guessed already, not being complete idiots. But we still had the foolish idea that we weren’t going to tell Mermaid Girl until she was older, three or so. I think we had this vision of sitting her down and having A Little Talk with her, wherein we would unveil the secrets of her genetic heritage, and she would gape in silent amazement, never having thought to wonder about it before.
Hah! Is all I can say. What on earth did we think we were going to do until then? Punt? Because Mermaid Girl has always been hyper-aware of family and social structures. And as she used to say proudly about herself, "No miss trick."
And the resemblances between Skaterboy and Mermaid Girl were obvious right from the start. For one thing? The guy never sleeps. He’s the only person I know who’s a morning person and a night person. When Mermaid Girl was a tiny baby, it became apparent that the truism about newborns dropping off anywhere they need to was just not true for her: the girl hated to miss a party, and would force herself to stay up if there was a chance of anything exciting going on, even at the cost of terrible meltdowns later. After a few weeks of this, RW called Skaterboy and said "This is all your fault!"
So one day when Mermaid Girl was about a year old and not really talking yet, she and RW were hanging out, nursing, and Mermaid Girl was flailing her legs around and hooking her feet over her shoulders and doing all this baby-gymnast stuff that she was wont to do. RW was used to talking to Mermaid Girl as if she couldn’t really understand anything (a mistake, as will soon be apparent), and murmured something like, "Well, it’s a good thing you got your athletic ability from your daddy and not from me."
Mermaid Girl stopped nursing, stared at RW, and said, "Dada?!?!"
"Uhhhh, yes," said RW, totally busted. "Uncle Skaterboy is your daddy. Sort of. Yup. Uh-huh."
We filled in the details a little later, after she could talk more and after we got a book from the library about all kinds of families.
We talked about how there are the parents you are born from, and the parents who take care of you, and sometimes those are different people, and they’re special to their kid in different ways. And how even though Uncle Skaterboy didn’t want to be a parent who took care of a kid all the time, he helped Mama to make Mermaid Girl, because she and I wanted to have a child together, and then after she was born I adopted her and now she had a mommy and a mama. "So, Uncle Skaterboy used to be my dad, but now he isn’t?" she asked, at two or so; not sad, just working it out.
Sort of, we said.
Once, before library story time, I was telling the friendly librarian that Mermaid Girl had a mommy and a mama. "And an Uncle Skaterboy!" she chimed in proudly.
She went through a period for a while where she used to ask RW to draw pictures of herself, RW, and Uncle Skaterboy and say that was her family. Sometimes, when pressed, she would put me (and Uncle Skaterboy’s partner) in the corners. Once she told us the sad story about how she and Mama would go live with Uncle Skaterboy, and I would be alone in the house, calling "Everyone come have dinner now!" and no one would come, I’d just be alone with the food.
I just couldn’t take it personally, because it had nothing to do with our actual daily life, with brushing teeth and picking up toys and reading stories and walking to the park. It was her working out the structure of things. And I knew that while Uncle Skaterboy loved (and loves) Mermaid Girl, loves having her picture on his fridge and showing her off to his friends in the West End and buying her clothes and teaching her to skate, he doesn’t want to be a full-time or even a part-time parent. And I do.
These days, Mermaid Girl can reel off the whole story, for us or anyone else she feels like telling: the speck Uncle Skaterboy gave Mama; the adoption; etc. etc. She loves to go up to Vancouver to see him, partly because he’s so glamorous and energetic and kid-friendly, and partly because she knows he’s so special to her. And while she sometimes seems a little sad that Uncle Skaterboy isn’t her "real" day-to-day dad, we’ve heard much more flack about our stubborn refusal to provide her with a little sibling (which is a story for another time).
Still, even though I’ve regained center-stage in her family pictures, Uncle Skaterboy has a unique place in her life. And I’m grateful to him, not only for making her existence possible, but for making that special place for her, too. They are lucky to have each other; I’ve seen how happy she makes him, and as she gets older, he’s going to be able to help her in ways that RW and I can’t. Her heart is big enough, and our family is big enough, to fit all of us.
Elswhere is another honorary Brooklynite. At one time she lived across from the Gowanus Projects and pined to live in Park Slope. "But I couldn’t afford it," she writes. "Not even in 1988." Elswhere now lives in Seattle with her partner (RW) and their toddler daughter, Mermaid Girl. This piece first appeared on Elswhere’s blog: Travels in Booland.
Light Sleeper by Real Fruit Jelly
No dreams. But I am tightly grasping my earplugs when I wake up. I
meant to put them in my ears but must have fallen asleep before doing
so. I’ve been wearing earplugs to sleep for a few years now. My husband
S is a seasoned snorer. There was a time when I’d simply leave the
bedroom and go sleep on the couch when the "music" he was making became
too free-form for me. Then there was a period when I’d kick him out and
he’d seemingly sleepwalk to the livingroom and resume the kazoo
symphony out there. Sawing wood? This man would cut down a national
forest each and everynight. Eventually, I became so angry that I’d give
him a very hard "nudge" and loudly announce, "Roll over! You’re
snoring!" He would dutifully roll onto his side but soon would end up
on his back again letting loose like a sick trumpet. I started to have
fantasies about punching him in the head.
But that all ended when I discovered "Leight Sleepers." Ahhh, yes. Those little pink and yellow bullet shaped foam babies have
changed my life. Here’s what it says on the package: "Soft foam ear
plugs that help with sleeping, concentrating and studying. Noise
reduction rating 32 decibels, when used as directed. Contents: 5 pair
ear plugs, carrying case ". All that for $2.99! I don’t know how many
decibels my spouse’s snoring reaches on a bad night (it’s worst after a
couple of martinis) but clearly it has not exceded 32. At the very
least his tune is muffled. At the very most, God bless ’em, I
experience a gloriously peaceful… silence.
Now, where are my plugs?
Real Fruit Jelly is a graphic designer and art director with many magazine mastheads to her credit. She lives in Park Slope with her husband and daughter and is an unabashed fan of Bruce Springsteen. Her blog, Sleeping Bunnies, is a daily record of her night life.
BROOKLYN WEATHER: Mostly cloudy. But it’s till gonna be 50 degrees. It ain’t like Sunday but what can you do?
BIG NEWS: Read The State of Two Unions by Hendrik Hertzberg in The New Yorker
DAILY DISC: Natalie Merchant The House Carpenters Daughter
GOOD EATIN’: Home delivery from Jack’s Restaurant. American comfort foods made by expert Mexican chefs (they own a Mexican place too). 519 Fifth Avenue at 13th Street. 718-965-8675
THIS SOUNDS COOL: In honor of the Year of the Rooster, visit The Museum of the Chinese in America. Tuesdays through Sundays, noon to 6PM; Fridays, noon to 7 p.m. @ 70 Mulberry Street. "Have You Eaten Yet? The Chinese Restaurant in America, an
exhibition of Chinese menus, travel diaries and other items; "Mapping
Our Heritage Project," in interactive display on the history of
Chinatown; "Yellow Pear," a compilation of artwork, stories and songs
by the Basement Workshop, an organization of Lower East Side artists
and activists; and "Many True Stories: Life in Chinatown on andAfter
Sept. 11," a collection of oral histories. Admission Information: 212-619-4785. www.moca-nyc.org
TODAY: Brooklyn Chocolatier Jacques Torres interviewed on The Lenny Lopate Show. 2/8 WNYC AM 820. Noon until 2 p.m.
HEADS UP: Author Frank McCourt is reading old and new work at MS 51. Meet-the-Author reception to follow. 2/9. 7 p.m.
AND DON’T FORGET: Emily Roboteau in her new novel, "The Professor’s Daughter," addresses identity, assimilation and the legacy of race. She reads at Community Bookstore on 2/10 at 7:30 pm. Seventh Avenue between Garfield and President.
HEAR/SAY: "The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity." Dorothy Parker
HAPPY NEW YEAR: The
lunar new year begins on February 9. The event is celebrated throughout
Asia: in Tibet, the holiday is called Losal, it
You can now access ONLY THE BLOG KNOWS BROOKLYN like this:
onlytheblogknowsbrooklyn.com or otbkb.com
Fast, easy. Tell your friends.
Fifth Avenue is in almost constant flux. Even above Ninth Street things are beginning to change. There’s a new Washington Mutual Bank up there and a national chain drug store on the corner of Ninth and Fifth Avenue (RIte Aid, CVS, who can tell the difference?)
A few of the discount stores, those places that sell a cacophonous assortment of merchandise from paper towels to plus-size clothing, lava lamps and lunch boxes, have big CLEARANCE or GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SIGNS plastered across their windows.
It could be a sign of the times: real estate prices are forcing them out. Or it could just be a ruse: a way to move the merchandise faster.
Payless, that shoe fetishist’s paradise between 10th and 11th Streets, always pulls me in. They’ve got mystery-material knock-offs of the latest in adult and children’s footwear. You want Uggs, they’ve got them. Sort of. You want floral printed Wellington boots: they’ve got it. Merrills? Something close. Pointy Prada-esque shoes. Not a problem.
Don’t tell anyone, but I got my knee-high "leather" boots there for $14.99. I don’t think they look cheap. Or do they?
And who can forget Save on Fifth, that emporium of everything you need and all the things you didn’t even know you needed. But you do. You really do. It’s almost impossible to resist the lures of that easy-to-shop-in, inexpensive alternative to Seventh Avenue?
If you ask me, Fifth Avenue should stop changing NOW. The combination of the old and the new is in almost perfect alignment. I want it to stop before it becomes something else again.
There’s still the ices cart on 10th Street and the lady who sells roasted peanuts. The Spanish bakery with the hyperactive cafe con leche. Western Beef butchers, that old boy’s club of a meatery. The Italian pork sausage shop. The strange parking lot on First Street with the Porsche on the garage roof (someone wants to turn that corner into a drive-thru bank. STOP). That weirder than weird lingerie shop run by the big lady and her dog. It’s all still there next to the nouveau: Lulus, Dianne Kane, Serene Rose, Stone Park Cafe, Blue Ribbon, Brooklyn Superhero Supply Store and the Park Slope Chip Shop.
If we lose the old stuff, we forfeit the whole feeling of the place, what made it interesting to begin with.
Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB
BROOKLYN WEATHER: Dreamy like yesterday. In a word: SUNSHINE. Unseasonably warm temperatures are going up to 50 degrees. Another day to enjoy Prospect Park, the streets, the Chinese New year
NEWS: Read about the elections in Iraq
DAILY DISC: Elliott Smith From a Basement on a Hillf
BLOG TIP: Sleeping Bunnies
SILVER SCREEN: Hotel Rwanda at the BAM Rose Cinema
GOOD EATIN’: The Stone House Cafe. 324 Fifth Avenue at 3rd Street. Unbelivably good french toast with mixed berry compote. Excellent service. Sunlight pours into this corner restaurant.
TODAY: Year of the Rooster: Brooklyn Public Library, Central branch, hosts "Music, Magic and more," an event which features Chinese dance, acrobatics and magic. 2:30-4 p.m.. Grand Army Plaza.
HEADS UP: New School Information Fair. Find out about the 52 new high schools
being opened in September 2005. 2/12 – 2/13 at Brooklyn School for the Arts. 345 Dean Street. 10 a.m. until 3 p.m.for more info: Inside Schools
AND DON’T FORGET: "Angela Ashes" author Frank McCourt will be reading from his at a MS 51 fundraiser on 2/9. 7 p.m. Fifth Avenue between 5th and 6th Streets. A meet-the-author
reception follows at the Old Stone House in the Third Street and Fifth
Avenue park.
HEAR/SAY: "Actually Brooklyn has a long literary history, and we shouldn’t forget
it, Walt Whitman being the most important. Quite a few of the great
20th century poets, the Objectivists, lived in Brooklyn, Louis
Zukovsky, George Oppen, Charles Reznikoff, and probably one of the
great 20th century poems, The Bridge, written by Hart Crane, was
composed in Brooklyn. In fact there are few places in America with a
greater poetic tradition than Brooklyn." – Paul Auster
BOOKLYN WEATHER: YUCK. Rain and snow showers in the morning. 36 degrees. Later on a high of 40 degrees. Slushy walking; don’t forget your galoshes. Continuing cloudiness. It’s supposed to be a nice weekend. Yay.
THE FRONT PAGE: The Guardian
DAILY DISC: Nick Drake, Pink Moon, Universal International
BLOG TIP: An Udge and a Wink
SILVER SCREEN: The House of Flying Daggers at BAM Rose Cinema
TONIGHT: Rod Rodgers Dance Company, Free Fridays at PS 321, 7 p.m.
HEADS UP: First Saturdays, Brooklyn Museum, 2/5, 6:30 until…
DON’ T FORGET: Author Frank McCourt will be reading from "Angela’s Ashes" "Tis," and his new book about being an English teacher at Stuyvesant High School. 2/9, MS 51 (Fifth Avenue between 5th and 6th Streets), 7 p.m. A fundraiser for MS 51, admission is $20. for the reading and a meet-the-author event at the Old Stone House afterwards. Regular admission without reception is $10. and $2. for students. Reservations: 718-768-3195
HEAR/SAY: If it turns out that there is a God, I don’t think he’s evil. But the worst that you can say about him is that he’s basically an underachiever. – Woody Allen
YOUR MAN IS LUCKY by Laments of the Unfinished
On Sunday I was riding the 1 or 9 from Riverdale sitting between a male actor and a female actor I had just met at a friend’s party when a happy, crazy homeless guy with a ponytailed beard walked into our subway car and stopped directly in front of me. I waited a few seconds before I looked up to see his smiling face.
"You’re cute," he said, grinning while his eyes moved around to opposite sides of his face before focusing back on me.
"Thanks," I said.
"Your man is a lucky man," he said.
He continued in this way, telling me that my man must be happy and I responded, "I’m sure he is," without much inflection. The guy seemed pretty harmless and he just kept grinning at me, so I figured I’d humor him (plus, my mother taught me that it’s always better to humor these men than ignore them because they get angry when you ignore them).
Our exchange went on for a little while until the male actor sitting next to me grabbed my hand, patted it and said,
"Yes, I am very lucky."
"Oh, you’re the guy. You are a lucky man," crazy grinning guy said.
"Thank you," male actor responded, which prompted another male passenger on the train to burst out laughing.
"Well, I commend you on your good taste," crazy grinning guy said and walked off the train.
Laments of the Unfinished is an honorary Park Sloper who lives in Washington Heights.
BROOKLYN WEATHER:
Mostly Cloudy and 32
In the past few weeks, Park Slope’s latest national chain store joined Rite Aid, Starbucks, Barnes and Noble, Radio Shack, Subway, Haggen Daz, Maggie Moo and Starbucks on Seventh Avenue.
Aersoles.
A friend put it well, "That’s the kind of place I go to in a mall. it’s a great shoe shop and all but it doesn’t belong on Seventh Avenue."
I have to agree. In the past, stores like this didn’t stand a chance in the Slope. Years back there was a United Colors of Benetton on Seventh Avenue, which shut its doors fairly promptly due to a lack of weekday pedestrian street traffic.
Well, clearly things have changed. It seems that the neighborhood can now support these big names. Soon the only kinds of shops that will be able to afford the ridiculous rents on Seventh Avenue will be national chains. Scary, huh? Well get ready for the malling of Seventh Avenue. It’s already begun.
What next? McDonalds?
Fortunately Seventh Avenue still has its own perculiar charms: old timers like Community Books, Lisa Polansky, Second Street Cafe, City Casuals, Clay Pot, and Sound Track manage to keep on keeping on. And newcomers like Loom, Bird, Living on Seventh and Nest have added lots of style and content. Sure, some of the old shops are quirky, crowded, expensive, and not always comprehensive in what they have to offer, but they’re OURS. And we love them.
Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB
The first Saturday of every month is a big neighborhood party at the Brooklyn Museum, which is open until 11 p.m. with lots to do in addition the museum’s regular exhibits.
In conjunction with the current exhibition of photographs of photographs of Marilyn Monroe called, "I Wanna be Loved By You," at 8 p.m. there will be a Marilyn Monroe look-alike contest with PRIZES.
Samba lessons and a Romare Bearden collage workshop for adults and kids are also on the schedule. And at 9 p.m: it’s time to DANCE in the museums’s gorgeous rotunda.
Here’s the play-by-play for this Saturday:
6 p.m.