Thanks to Eugene J. Patron, Press & Communications Director of Prospect Park, I knew that Thanksgiving Day was the opening day of the Kate Wollman Rink in our beloved park. I am now on Mr. Patron’s e-mailing list, which means I am up-to-the-minute on all park events.
Daughter and I packed up our skates bought last winter at Good Footing, and car-serviced over to the rink (with her best friend and neighbor). My friend downstairs said she would TIVO the Macy’s parade so the girls could see it later.
The Wollman staff was in good spirits it being the first day of operation. No-one seemed too pissed off about working on Thanksgiving. The guy at the bag-check, candy and supply shop, learned that the price of everything had gone up since last year. "First I heard about it," he said cutting me a break on the price of the bagcheck because I didn’t have 8 cents in change. "Just this time, okay?"
It now costs $1.08 to check your bag up from one buck. No biggie.
The cafe was in fully operational mode: their famous great-for dipping -in-hot-chocolate Churros were as tasty as ever. In addition to H.C., the girls enjoyed cotton candy (yuck), and popcorn sitting outside on the picnic tables.
Days like yesterday make me feel so privileged to live in the small town of Brooklyn. The rink wasn’t crowded at all and its view of the lake surrounded by reeds, grasses and fall foilage was spectacular.
The sky was full blue with majestic clouds and the sun warmed the over-dressed skaters as they skated round and round.
In the months since we last went skaing, Daughter has become an extremely confident and speedy skater. A far cry from the imbalanced, "hold on to me" skater she was less than a year ago.
I attribute it to her excellent physical coordination and balance AND to her NEW SKATES, fancy pink ones with Velcro closures. Having your own skates is half the battle in the effort to skate well. Those rented skates are just awful.
Even my skating has improved expoentially since purchasing my own skates.
We walked back through the park passing the Prospect Park Audubon Center & Visitor Center at the Boathouse The "Heart of Brooklyn" trolley picked us up in front of the Zoo and took us to Grand Army Plaza. We walked to Third Street in thick piles of leaves. Daughter and friend picked acors the whole way.
"We’re going to paint them when we get home," Daughter said. And they did.
FOR WHAT’S GOING ON IN PROSPECT PARK TODAY SEE TODAY’S DAILY SPECIALS ON SCOOP DU JOUR (below)
On Thanksgiving morning, a neighbor knocked on the door of another neighbor. She was holding four red folding chairs.
"Read the blog. You gotta read the blog," she said. "And here are some chairs for your party."
I am paraphrasing. But I think I’m close. When I spoke to my neighbor downstairs, the one who was having 14 guest over for Thanksgiving, we had this conversation:
"I haven’t read the blog yet: It’s been so hectic around here," she said. "What did you say?"
"I said you needed chairs because the number of your Thanksgiving guests exceeded the number of chairs in your apartment," I told her. I also assured her that nothing too personal about her had been blabbed or blogged to the world. But then I remembered thepart about the hat.
"I also mentioned the thing about you wearing a woolen hat while you cook (instead of a hair net) because you’re so nervous about people finding hair in your food," I said nervously.
"And I was wearing the wool hat when she came by with the chairs. She said, ‘You really are wearing a hat.’"
I wondered for a minute if I had crossed some kind of boundary by blogging about the green wool hat, the red chairs.
But she said she didn’t mind about the wool hat. And she really needed the chairs.
On Ducky’s first Thanksgiving, observing my sister with her 15-month-old brought back memories of trying to enjoy a family event with a baby.
THE GOOD PART: All the cooing and oohing on the part of one’s relatives. Everyone volunteered to hold the precious one and she was passed around the table like a bowl of mashed potatoes.
Ducky looked a tad startled by the new faces and the strange environment (a teriffic restaurant in the West Village called Inside). But she was mostly game. And she did flash that to-die-for smile.
THE BAD PART: By the time my sister and her husband arrived at the restaurant, they were already exhausted after dressing Ducky (which involved tights), and packing supplies — books, toys, diapers, changes of clothing, and special baby food — for the outing.
Yes, I remember it well. I felt a little guilty for the fact that I was able to enjoy the company of my relatives and my Thanksgiving meal unencumbered, for the most part, by the needs of crying or whining children. Now that my kids are 14 and 8…
I told a fib. Daughter, picky eater she, was unbearably hungry AND quite picky about the soup course. She would not even TRY the incredibly delicious squash soup with creme fraiche. THE BAD PART: Knowing that a hunger-induced snit fit could be on the way, I offered to take her to a nearby Grey’s Papaya (we’d spotted it on the way to the restaurant) for a hot dog to quell her dizzying hunger. She was good to go. THE GOOD PART: We managed to do this without anyone knowing that my daughter ate a hot dog from Grey’s Papaya in the middle of our Thanksgiving feast.
Phew.
Indulgent mothering aside, having a picky eater isn’t something I want to advertise to my extended family.
On Ducky’s first Thanksgiving, Ducky’s dad had to duck out mid-meal to take Ducky for a stroll in her stroller for a nap. He came back a half-hour later with a non-sleeping Ducky.
Ducky and her parents left the party early sensing that she needed to settle down in her own crib. It was time for bed. For all of them.
Thanksgiving eve on Third Street. I visited with my friend on the first floor who is having 14 people over for the feast.
I watched her whip up a pumpkin pie, a pecan pie, and cranberry sauce. while we drank wine and covered a free-associative spectrum of topics.
Daughter and her two kids swirled around noisily.
My friend was wearing a woolen cap because she lives in fear that someone will find a hair in her cooking.
She’s serious.
She told me that, as the day progressed, her husband kept calling with word of more guests. What started as a small family Thanksgiving had evolved into crowd scene. Too many for her table. Worried that her 13-pound Food Coop turkey might not be enough. she had to add pork loin, ribs, and turkey wings to the menu.
Earlier, she phoned one of the guests, a good friend, and took her up on her offer to bring gnocchi and polenta with sage and butter sauce. "We need more food," she told her.
I think she’ll have enough food.
Sitting and chatting in her apartment she seemed anything but worried about Thursday’s feast. The meal was coming together slowly dish by dish.
The wine was helping.
She asked me if she can borrow chairs. "Of course," I said. We’re having Thanksgiving in a West Village restarant with 21 family members on my mother’s side.
Frankly, we’ve gotten lazy about going to the Thanksgiving Parade. Too cold, too much of a schlep from Brooklyn, too early. We don’t even watch it on TV anymore.
And it ain’t what it used to be. So commercial, so glitzy, so…different. But what isn’t? This year they’re adding Dora the Explorere and Scooby Doo. Artist Tom Otterness has created a 33-foot-tall Humpty Dumpty, frowning mid-"great fall." As usual, the parade route begins at 77th Street and Central Park West, proceeds to Columbus Circle, and turns onto Broadway. It turns west on 34th Street (just past Macy’s Herald Square) and finishes at Seventh Avenue.
Back when we aspired be the ultimate New York parents, the parade was a must-do activity. When my son was 3, we all bundled up and stood under a Broadway marquis on a freezing cold day. Friends brought a thermos of hot chocolate and it felt like the most essential New York childhood experience of all.
For a few years, my cousin rented a hotel room on the 5th floor of the Central Park’s Mayflower Hotel, which provided a perfect, indoor spot for viewing the balloons. To watch the parade from indoors is one of the great luxuries of New York City life. A real perk. One windy year, we watched a ballon deflate before our eyes after it rammed into a lamp post.
When my sister lived across the street from the Museum of Natural History, she invited Son and Daughter (who was only 2 at the time) to sleep over so they could watch the blowing up of the balloons the night before the parade, one of those great New York traditions. So great, that it’s almost as popular as the parade itself and unbearably crowded.
My childhood memories of the parade are vivid. When I was a kid, I remember being bundled in a snowsuit on freezing cold Thanksgiving mornings and standing out on Central Park West too short to see the parade.
In fourth grade, a classmate invited a group of girls over to her 77th Street duplex for a sleepover. Her parents took us out in the middle of the night to watch the balloons – Underdog and Mickey Mouse being blown up on 77th Street. This was before it was a popular activity. back then, it was strictly for residents of 77th Street and 81st Street. How special we felt walking outside in our nightgowns and overcoats beneath a crystal clear night sky.
The next morning we were out early watching the parade in full swing. The foot of one of the balloons nearly touched my friend’s little brother’s head as he sat on his father’s shoulders.
I asked my sister if she has plans to take her 15 month old daughter into Manhattan for her first parade. "Not this year," she said. They’ll probably take her next year when Ducky is two. She can sit on her daddy’s shoulders and watch the enormous balloons up above.
Yesterday morning, Mister Oh So Blase about the new Harry Potter movie woke up with a start: "What time is it?" he screamed from his bedroom.
We told him the time (it was 12:30 p.m. or so, his usual weekend hour of wake up) and he told us that he needed to go out to get advanced tickets for the 7p.m. show of "Harry Potter and the Goblets of Fire." at the Pavillion.
Actually, he asked Husband, and then me, if we wanted to go out and get him a ticket. But we declined.
On Saturday night, he and his friends had tried to get into the 7 p.m. show and it was sold out. So he was determined to get in Sunday night, as his desire to see the new movie had risen to a fever pitch.
The mattter of advanced tickets was settled when word came, via cell phone, that his friend’s mother was picking up a ticket for him. A flurry of phone calls followed, "Are you going to the movie? Okay. See you there." and "You going to the movie tonight? Good. See you later…"
A plan was in place. Advanced tickets had been secured. Things were progressing in a postitive direction.
When he came home from the movie I was already reading in bed. He poked his head through my bedroom door: "Mom, do you know where all my Harry Potter books are?"
I told him to look in all the obvious places. They used to have an honored spot on the top row of his bookcase but they’d apparently moved on. I’d forgotten how after seeing each movie, Son usually wanted to re-read the book, sometimes more than one book. Following the third movie he was so outraged by how much had been left out that he wanted to savor those missing parts.
But this time was different. I could tell that he’d thoroughly enjoyed the movie. "It put me in a Harry Potter mood. I need all my books," he said. Eventually he found them in various bookcase around the house. He was also starving. In all the excitement to see the movie, he’d forgotten to have dinner. We were all out when he left so he missed our family meal.
"Can you make me something to eat," he asked. I agreed figuring I might get some interesting insight into why he liked this film so much better than the last. "I always knew that the fourth one would make a great movie," he said. "J.K. Rowling wrote it right after the first movie came out and it’s very cinematic. There’s mystery, flashbacks, a lot of action. I somehow knew this one would be good."
I watched the eggs carefully; my son likes them perfectly sunny-side-up. "There was almost no Quidditch in the movie," he added, the only negative he had to say. He thought they did a good job of not leaving anything out. And, according to him, it wasn’t really very violent at all despite what the reviews said. "Some guy cuts his hand off but it goes by really fast."
Son ate his fried egg sandwich in his bedroom with the fourth book lying open on his chest. There were books from the bookcase all over the floor. He seemed eager to get back to his reading. We urged him to go to bed as he needs to be up bright and early to take the subway to school. But being in a Harry Potter kind of mood, he might just not be able to stop reading until he gets to the end. Even if it is over 500 pages long.
When Son was in second grade, a friend of his who had a friend in London heard about a book called, "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone."
While J.K. Rowling’s magical epic was already gathering a readership in England, the book was unavailable in the United States until the Spring of 1999 (I may have my dates wrong).
Our friends discovered that you could purchase the book on the English Amazon.com. Barely anyone in Brooklyn had even heard of the book.
Our friends kept talking about the interesting book they were reading to their sons at bedtime. We waited until the American edition came out and I read it to my son at bedtime.
I noticed right away that the book was well-written and noticibly more complex in terms of form. It really felt like a work of literary fiction for adults but with a subject that was continually interesting to children.
I also noticed that the the chapters were long — and it was time-consuming to finish one before bedtime. But we read the book quickly – one chapter a night.
My son became obsessed with the book and when his birthday rolled around in June he wanted a Harry Potter party. Mind you, this was before there was Harry Potter merchandise, party plates, games, etc. This was years before the first movie. In fact, nobody in my son’s second grade class had read Harry Potter or even heard of it in June of 1999.
We sent out invitations to his friends and classmates. It read like the letter Harry gets from Hogwarts, the Wizard’s school, inviting him to attend the school.
Many of the parents were intrigued by the invite and thought we were massively creative. The truth was, we’d copied it out of the book — just changing a few names and dates.
The party itself was planned to a T. My sister bought supplies for a wand-making activity. We created our own Sorting Hat, the hat used at Hogwarts to determine which special society (Gryffindor, Slitherin, etc.) a student belongs in. There was "Pin the Letter on Hedwig," a huge painting of a beautiful owl like the one in the book who delivers mail to Harry. On my son’s loft bed we created a simulation of a Quidditch game. At the conclusion of the party, my husband read the first chapter of the book.
Needless to say, the party was a roaring sucess and my son was pleased as punch. The parents were happy not to have to drop their kids off at Kids ‘n Action or a bowling alley and were excited by what sounded like a teriffic book.
By spring of the next year, Harry Potter was a world-wide phenomenon. Scholastic released the second book (or was it the third?) at midnight on a Friday night that year, a huge event for kids who showed up at bookstores dressed as characters in the book or in pajamas as Son did. J.K Rowling was on her way to becoming the richest woman in England.
Soon there was a Harry Potter movie and Hollywood images of all the characters and places that had previously been conjured in the imagination of those lucky children who were the first to read the book before it became the iconic bestseller it is now.
Now Son is so "been there, done that" about the opening of the new movie. Daughter, on the other hand, went with Husband the very first night. Son "hated" the third movie because it left so much out, not surprisingly since the book was 500 pages long. At 14 his movie tastes have evolved a bit: "Jarhead," "Harold and Maude," and "Garden State" are favorites.
He and his friends intentionally avoided the hoopla of opening night at the Pavillion, attending instead a production of Galileo by Brecht at Berkeley Carroll that his best friend was in. Just so you don’t think I’m showing off in that "my child is more interesting than your child" way, I’m not. Son found the Brecht play to be quite boring (though he said his friend was EXCELLENT).
My guess is that Son and his friends will catch the movie on the sly this weekend or next. While they’re doing a good job of pretending that they don’t care a bit about the new Harry Potter, underneath it all, I suspect, they’re dying to see Harry, Hermoine, and Ron in the latest installment of that wizardly tale.
UPDATE: Son and friends tried to see the 7 p.m. show on Saturday but it was sold out. He made fun of me this morning for posting, as he put it, this "aren’t we cool for knowing about Harry Potter before you did" post.
One of the fun things about having a Brooklyn blog is hearing from readers with news and information about the neighborhood. I encourage everyone to keep me posted on all the latest news! I love to know what’s going on and it’s hard to keep track of everything.
This arrived this morning in my In-Box (my email is louisecrawford@gmail.com). Thank you to the person who sent it.
Just wanted to let you know that a new restaurant — Little Dishes — is going into the space vacated by Cornbread Cafe. According to a sign on their window the website is littledishes.org. Says it will be "American cuisine."
Also, Anthony’s — the new brick oven pizza place on 7th Ave btw 14th and 15th — is scheduled to open on Monday November 21. They are connected in some way to a legendary pizza place in Forest Hills but I can’t remember which one (anyone know?)
There is also a new Thai place going on 7th between 13th and 14th, I believe. It’s under construction now.
Often, at a nice restaurant in Park Slope, you see a table of women
talking in a very animated way. They seem relaxed, even uninhibited.
Talking loudly, they throw their heads back in laughter and discuss
husbands, children, school, money, careers, politics. The big stuff and
the small.
You just might be witnessing a "Mom’s Dinner." More than likely
these are women who met when their children were in pre-school. What
started as an excuse to get a break from the routines of family life,
has evolved into a bi-monthly ritual; a A sanity-check, if you will. A
chance to compare notes and support one another, these evenings are
great way to stay connected and share information.
The women I "Mom’s Dinner" with were introduced at an orientation
meeting at Daughter’s pre-school. The night we met, the teacher said,
"Look around you. You are going to know these people for a very long
time."
She was right.
We were young and innocent then. Ourr children were only
2-years-old. They’d never been in school before. We were worried that
they wouldn’t separate, behave, enjoy this new chapter in their lives.
Most pre-schools have something called Phase-In. In the first weeks
of school, the parents are asked to stay in or nearby the classroom
just in case your child has a difficult adjustment.
Some people have to spend more time than others. Daughter was
quickly acclimated to life in the classroom — she didn’t hang on to me
at all. But some of the other kids had a more tearful time.
Over school-provided bagels, we talked about separation anxiety,
transitional objects, bottles, thumbsucking, and potty training.
Our talk evolved as our children did. Now our kids are in elementary
school. They read the Harry Potter books and "A Series of Unfortunate
Events;" take piano lessons and dance; talk back and give attitude. All
the usual stuff.
And the Mom’s Dinners have changed, too. We talk about who we are
now. It’s seems like we’re on an upward trajectory: there’s less anxous
talk, checking to see if our children are "normal." We’re happier, more
settled, a little more comfortable in our own skin.
Tonight, we were a group of 5. The restaurant was buzzing with a hip crowd. Big parties, couples.
The pomegranite Cosmos were incredible. So were we.
What began in a small South Slope cafe (Fou Le Shakra) is now welcoming audiences of 30 or more one Thursday a month at the beautiful and historic Old Stone House in JJ Byrne Park. This Thursday’s show may be the most ambitious yet.
Tonight, Cathy Caplan, a
playwright whose play, LAPIS BLUE BLOOD RED, was cited as one of the best
plays by women in 2002 and included in an anthology, will present a staged reading of the first act of her new play, MODEL.
In MODEL, a high end fashion photographer goes to a country house for a
weekend shoot, accompanied by the model, camera assistant, fashion
editor and her seventeen year old daughter. Inspired by photographs
from 1970’s Vogue magazine. Model examines the forging of a new
feminine ideal in the mid ’70’s. Sexual desires are played out in and
out of the frame. The taking of photographs within the play function
almost like songs in a musical–the set up and re-creation of these
actual photographs allow for little playlets within the play that
inhibit and exaggerate the emotional desires and needs of the people
making the images. With Lisa Dove, Greg Paul, Bess Rous, Dustin Smith
and Jess Weixler.
Ellen Ferguson, a former Park Sloper and gifted poet and short story writer will be giving a rare reading of her poetry.
The previous event, a reading by New York Times reporter Jesse Green and journalist Christina Frank of their essays from a new anthology about adoption called A LOVE LIKE NO OTHER: STORIES BY ADOPTIVE PARENTS, was very well attended and enjoyed by all.
Green’s essay about a same-sex couple who adopt two boys from Texas was a an illuminating and sometimes hilarious pieced called "The Day that Hallmark Forgot." And Frank’s piece about her endless ruminations about the mother of her adopted Vietnamese daughter was moving, wise and real.
In September, noted South African author Sheila Kohler read from her new novel, CROSSWAYS, which was just published in paperback. Matthew Zapruder, read from AMERICAN LINDEN, his first book of poems.
Also in September, Elizabeth Royte read from her book GARBAGELAND, ON THE SECRET TRAIL OF TRASH, her incredibly interesting and important book about what we leave behind.
Regina McBride, author of "THE MARRIAGE BED" read a beautiful passage from that novel complete with Irish brogue and scintillating language. Nancy Graham shared the first chapter of her work-in-progress novel and some of her Somniloquies, poetic experiments in writing while sleeping.
If you can get out for the evening, come on over to the Old Stone House. It’s free, refreshments are served, and you’re sure to have an interesting time. Spread the word. For more information about upcoming readings through June, go to the BRW web site.
So now I am on the planning committee for my 30th high school reunion. A dinner meeting is planned for next week. In a sense, the reunion IS next Monday.
I can attest that my fellow graduates of an unnamed progressive private high school on the Upper West Side of Manhattan that no longer exists are an organized and accomplished lot. We already have a detailed "to-do" list:
At the first meeting we will be discuss: Who to invite? How to find them? How to convince them to attend? What event or events should we have? Where should we have them? What to order for dinner? Why it is not odd that we all know the history of the labor movement is great detail, but cannot name any state capitols.
Those of us on the planning committee (doesn’t that sound like high school?) sent a flurry of e-mails to one another yesterday. Mind you, I haven’t been in touch with some of these people for years. In one e-mail, someone on the committee surmised that I and another friend would be unable to attend next week’s meeting in Manhattan because we live in Park Slope and each have 2 children. My friend swiftly responded with this missive:
We would like to protest the stereotyped and diminishing description of us as
In Park Slope, where strollers rule the sidewalks,
parents have come to depend on an online message board where they can
swap tips on toilet training, the best place to buy rain boots for
toddlers, and how to keep goldfish from dying.
But when
a recent question about a preschool prompted a mother and shop owner to
recount a bad business encounter with the school’s director, the
husband of the school’s director threatened to sue the board’s
moderators for defamation.
To 3,000 families that subscribe to the online board, parkslopeparents
@yahoogroups.com,
this was serious. Some said the threat of a lawsuit endangered their
ability to freely express their (often heated) opinions on anything
from the quality of restaurants to whether parents should give their
nannies drug tests.
Susan Fox founded the message board three
years ago as a new mother looking to make connections with other
neighborhood parents. Occasionally, she said, if a message seems likely
to inflame other members, she or one of five other moderators will send
a private e-mail message suggesting that someone "think before you push
the send button."
As she prepared cheese omelets on Friday
evening for her two daughters, Samantha, 4, and Sabrina, 21 months, Ms.
Fox said she never wanted to censor anybody. "My greatest fear is that
the list mutates into an overly polite, overly P.C. list that does not
speak its mind," she said.
But Ms. Fox and her fellow
moderators found themselves threatened with a lawsuit after Lisa Meyer,
owner of the Painted Pot, a do-it-yourself pottery store, posted a
message last month saying that she sued the preschool, Midwood
Montessori, in small-claims court three years ago over an unpaid $350
bill. Edward B. Safran, a lawyer and the husband of the school’s
director, Harriet Safran, demanded in several e-mail messages that Ms.
Fox remove Ms. Meyer’s post.
Ms. Fox offered to let Ms. Safran
respond to the offending post on the message board. In her rebuttal,
Ms. Safran accused Ms. Meyer of defamation and added that the Painted
Pot had "failed to deliver what was promised." Ms. Safran and Ms. Meyer
agreed in their posts that a judge had ordered the school to pay half
the bill. Ms. Meyer, reached by telephone, declined to comment.
In
subsequent e-mail messages to Ms. Fox, Mr. Safran said that if Ms.
Meyer’s post was not deleted from the message board, he would sue its
moderators, saying they had published libelous content.
Ms. Fox said she did not want to set a precedent allowing anyone who objected to a post to "bully us" into deleting it.
But
as Mr. Safran’s threats of a lawsuit continued, the moderators were
scared into shutting down the message group’s entire archives this
month. The action prompted an outpouring of messages from members, many
of them angry. David Alquist, a father of two teenage daughters,
complained about people who are "trying to intimidate and silence us."
He wrote that he did not know what the matter was about, but added that
"it is too silly for words."
In an interview, Mr. Alquist said he disregarded many of the critical posts on the list.
"It’s
hard to imagine how someone could be truly wronged by a random posting
by a stranger," he said. "Pretty soon we’ll say people aren’t allowed
to talk to each other in the streets. It’s nuts."
But Nancy
Workman, one of the board’s moderators, acknowledged that she had
avoided a local store after reading a negative post. Although she does
not advocate censorship, she said, "we have to be careful both as
people who post messages and as we read messages to be mindful" of the
potential to influence neighbors’ behavior.
Last week, a local
parent helped recruit Christopher Wolf, chairman of the Internet law
group at the law firm Proskauer Rose in Washington, to give pro bono
advice to the Park Slope moderators.
Mr. Wolf said that he had
told the moderators that under federal law they were not liable for Ms.
Meyer’s post and that he had called Mr. Safran to tell him he had no
case.
Mr. Wolf added that under the federal Communications
Decency Act, Internet service providers, Web site operators and
bulletin board hosts were exempted from liability for the statements of
others. People who post libelous statements can be subject to
defamation suits, he said.
Mr. Safran said, "This matter has
been settled," later adding that he did not intend to file a lawsuit
against the moderators. Ms. Fox said the moderators were waiting for
him to sign a letter affirming that.
Ms. Fox said she intended to
reopen the parkslopeparents archives this weekend, with Ms. Meyer’s
post removed. Ms. Fox said she wanted to remind people that they were
responsible for their own posts, although she did not want "to put the
fear of God in anyone."
But she added, "We are happy to get back to talking about how to get a baby to take a bottle."
Prospect Park is about Celebrate the Opening of a New Nature Trail System and the Completion of The Campaign for Prospect Park, 2001-2005.
On November 17 at 11 a.m. there will be a Ribbon Cutting and Reception in the park.
Getting close to nature is now easier than ever with the creation of the new Prospect Park Nature Trail System in Prospect Park. Interpretive trail signs, along with printed and audio guides, will take visitors on self-guided tours through the Park
It’s amazing how many good movies FOR ADULTS there are in the local movie theaters right now. I have a long list of films I want to see. I guess I’ll plan to spend a whole day at the movies the next time I have a day with nothing to do. Well, that’s not very likely. But it is fun to ditch your responsibilities once in a while and sneak out to a movie. Alone. In the middle of the day.
THAT is truly one of life’s great pleasures. Do it! AT THE PAVILLION:
Peppermint
Patty and a group of hungry pals show up at Charlie Brown’s house. So
where’s the food, Chuck? It’s Thanksgiving! There’s fun and food for
everyone, plus lots of thankfulness, too. This Emmy Award-winning
cartoon features a melodic Vince Guaraldi score.
Saturday, November 12, 2 PM Central Library, Second Floor Meeting Room
Smith’s memoir and modern-day detective story, "West of Then: A
Mother, a Daughter, and a Journey Past Paradise", is about one woman’s
search for her wayward and drug-addicted mother, whose past is
inextricably linked with the bittersweet history of their home, Hawaii.
"A harrowing, heartbreaking exploration of love and longing…a post-modern paradise
lost."
Husband and I stopped into the Brooklyn Lyceum last night to have a snack at Schnack: Express. And boy are we glad we did.
Schnack: Express is a casual hamburger and hot dog eatery in the lobby of the Lyceum. It is the second outpost of a popular Red Hook snack joint. They serve delicious mini-hamburgers, Angus hot dogs, sandwiches, fries and onion rings. They also have vegan offerings.
My delicious mini-hamburger was made of quality ground meat with great seasonings. Husband ate his angus dog very quickly without offering a bite. That usually means that he’s eating something really good.
The owner of the Lyceum, Eric Richmond, was sitting at the box office table in the lobby. I introduced myself to him by saying, "I believe I owe you an apology for what appeared in my blog." To which he replied: "Oh, YOU’RE the evil blogger." He then laughed and I knew that he was open to having a discussion.
I apologized for writing that the Lyceum is underutilzed. One look at their web site reveals just how much has been going on there. In fact, 100,000 people have attended theater, film and musical events in the last five years.
I asked Richmond why the perception of the Lyceum is so skewed. "Locals in Park Slope don’t pay attention to what’s going on here." I wondered if that has something to do with the Fourth Avenue location. But Richmond thinks it’s something more. In his comment to OTBKB last month he wrote this:
The tough marketing-phobic skin that Park Slopers have precludes many different experiences. A friend of mine nailed it several years ago when we were discussing the difference betwen New york and Chicago. Chicago is a theater town, New York is a fashion town. paraphrased, Chicagoans enjoy the hunt for art, New Yorkers refuse to hunt. That is changing as New York is invaded with the rest of America…
Reviews and listings in the Times, New York Magazine, Time Out New York the Voice and the New Yorker and others have completely passed beyond your view. more likely is that without a million dollar ad capaign to search you out you are completely unable to navigate culture at the sub-broadway, non bar-band levels.
I always find it humorous when I get European tourists who visit because they have seen footage of it on the BBC.
With my series Brooklyn Reading Works, I know first-hand how difficult it is to get Park Slopers to attend cultural events – even if they want to. Jobs, children, dinner, homework, bedtime, lack of childcare makes it hard for people to break out of their daily routines to go out on a weeknight or even on a weekend.
When they do go out they’re usually glad they did feeling renewed and replenished with the experience of art. But getting them to actually do it is hard.
I suspect that as more singles and marrieds-without-children move into the neighborhood the local cultural organziations will enjoy greater attendance. As Brooklyn becomes more of a destination, the pull of Manhattan culture will weaken as Brooklynites recognize the cutting edge activities in their midst.
Living next door to one of the cultural capitals of the world, is hard on any arts group in the boroughs. And yet, Brooklyn offers it’s own brand of quality, cutting edge art – it is as valid and interesting as anything in Manhattan. Just look at Barbes, the Lyceum, Issue Projects Room and The Old Stone House.
About the garbage situation that was alluded to on the blog, Richmond said with some exasperation: "There is only 1 garbage pail on Fourth Avenue between Union and President. I call the Department of Sanitation to complain and they bring 3 more. Then local construction workers dump construction garbage in the pails and make a mess. The Sanitation guys get mad and they take the 3 pails away…"
It’s hard and sometimes thankless work being a community arts organizer. And Richmod deserves the support of his neighbors. I don’t know Richmond at all, but he seems to be going out on a limb to bring vital arts programming to his architectural treasure on Fourth Avenue. With the support of this community, the Lyceum will hopefully continue to thrive. Have a snack at Schnack: Express, check out the Lyceum schedule, and have a look around.
Schnack: Express is open Monday to Friday from 9 a.m. to noon and 5 p.m. until mid-night. Saturday and Sunday it is open from 10 a.m until mid-night.
FYI: On Friday night December 2nd, there will be a Hurricane Katrina benefit and concert at the Brooklyn Lyceum, featuring Cool and Unusual Punishment and other local teen bands including StunGun, Francesca Perlov and Blue House, among others. It should be a great event and a great way for locals to see what’s going on there.
Brooklyn’s own Rosie Perez will be the Grand Marshal for Sunday’s Develop Don’t Destroy Walkathon. Rosie joins State Senator Velmanette Montgoemery, Community Leader Chris Owens, and Brooklyn residents who will walk together to protest Bruce Ratner’s plans for the Atlantic Rail yards.
Moms talking to moms is probably the single most important strategy for dealing with life with a teenager.
Some of us stop each other on Seventh Avenue and ask how things are going. That’s code for: Is everything alright?
We share information…"I saw your kid with…" Or, "Do you know anything about…?"
We want to know that our children are hanging out with nice kids, and doing nice things. We also need to hear about the things that aren’t so nice.
Which kids are doing drugs? Alcohol? Having sex? Misbehaving? Acting out?
In other words, is my kid doing drugs, drinking, having sex, misbehaving, or acting out?
Even more, we want to know if our kids are safe, acting cautiously, being alert to the dangers of the city.
Just yesterday a mom very much in the know told me that some kids have been mugged on Seventh Avenue. Groups of girls have been accosted, their bags emptied out on the sidewalk, their cell phones, i-pods, and money stolen.
That worried me.
I wanted to know about who’s going to the Prospect Park after dark and what are
they doing there? From what I hear, the Park has become quite a hangout
and that worries many of us. It doesn’t seem safe; it’s not a good
place to be after dark. Even before dark, there are some very isolated
spots.
This same mom said that her son was beaten up in Prospect Park this past Saturday night (November 5). He ended up in the emergency room at Methodist Hospital. His friend was beaten up too. "I don’t have a lot of rules," she said "But my kids are forbidden to go into Prospect Park!"
She told me to spread the word to other moms, to the kids. "Tell everyone what happened to my son," she said. So that’s what I’m doing now.
There are so many reasons to worry. Talking to other moms is one good way to find out what we don’t always want to know. We each know a little bit about what is going on. Together we know a lot. We can help each other, and help our kids avoid some of the pitfalls of being a teen…
We have to look out for each other and each other’s children. The streets have eyes: and it is us. All of us.
A piece about Brooklyn native Isa Chandra Moskowitz caught my eye on Daily Heights. She is the creator of Post Punk Kitchen a public access television show and new vegan cookbook, "Vegan with a Vengeance." I later found this interview with her on The Gothamist.
Gothamist: Your Brooklyn upbringing and love for the borough is a large part
of the book. Can you elaborate on what
Does The Squid and the Whale reveal the pretentiousness of Park Slope? Writer Jake Moody in his piece A Movie, A Mirror, in Sunday’s City Section thinks so.
EARLY in "The Squid and the Whale," Noah Baumbach’s semiautobiographical film about divorce among the literati, the teenage Walt Berkman is seen sitting alone in a high-school classroom when a potential girlfriend strikes up a conversation: "You live in Park Slope, right?" The answer is complicated – his parents live apart and have joint custody – and anyway, the exchange is over just seconds later, grinding to a halt when Walt dismisses the F. Scott Fitzgerald novel "This Side of Paradise," which he has not read, as "a minor work." Audiences laughed at Walt for, among other things, his pretentiousness and his quickness to echo the pretentiousness of his father, Bernard, a pompous writer and professor who passes similar judgment on Dickens’s "Tale of Two Cities." Chase Madar, a 34-year-old lawyer, translator and critic who has lived in Park Slope for three years and is one of the film’s many fans, laughed along with them. But he also cringed, if only a little. Along with the laughter, he confessed, "I felt totally incriminated." READ MORE IN THE NY TIMES.
On Sunday November 6th at 3 p.m. BROOKLYN READING WORKS at the Old Stone House presents JESSE GREEN and CHRISTINA FRANK reading from a new anthology about adoption called: A LOVE LIKE NO OTHER: STORIES FROM ADOPTIVE PARENTS.
The Old Stone House is located in JJ Byrne Park on Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets. Free. Refreshments. Books available. Discussion to follow.
This event is NOT just for adoptive parents or those contemplating adoption but for anyone interested in families and children. Please join us for what promises to be a great event.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
From various perspectives, 20 adoptive parents offer evocative, sometimes provocative, personal essays that have the liveliness and immediacy of prose fiction. Biological parents are variously imagined, sought and found in the opening section, "Reflections on Birth Parents." In "Encounters with the Unexpected," adoptive parents confront "postadoption depression," family wariness, ethnic identity issues and disabling psychological problems. Each family (single parent, gay parent, divorced parents, intra-family adoption, blended family) is adoptive in its unique way, persuasively confirmed in "Variations on Family." While the early sections focus on the parent-child relationship, the concluding "Personal Transformations" leans toward the child-to-parent effect; as one writer puts it, "I knew a child would rearrange my home life, but upend my career and worldview? Those two items weren’t even on my list." Any parent will find commonality here, but the collection will especially engage adoptive parents in conversation and controversy with people who share their dilemmas and delights. Diverse as this collection is, it’s worth noting that the essayists are professional writers (they include Jacquelyn Mitchard, Emily Prager and Dan Savage), most of the children are preadolescent and 11 of the adoptions are transnational (five of them from China).
On Wednesday, the moderators of Park Slope Parents, a local list-service for parents, sent out this ominous message:
The moderators have been threatened with a lawsuit pertaining to a post on the Park Slope Parents Yahoo Group. In order to protect ourselves, we are SHUTTING DOWN the Message Archives until further notice.
The PSP Moderators and Advisory Committee have already spent hundreds of hours trying to resolve this situation. It is important that we resolve this quickly and with integrity — if we do not, the entire PSP list may be in jeopardy and may have to be closed down entirely. We may need to ask for donations from PSP to pay for legal counsel.
For those not familiar with PSP, it is an invaluable resource to the parents of Park Slope, which provides an open exchange of information about parenting in Park Slope Brooklyn.
Issues such as "Where’s the best place to get shoes that fit?," or "Does
anyone have an idea of how to get a baby to take a bottle?" The group
is open to parents in the neighborhood with children of all ages. It is
"gently" moderated.
After word of the lawsuit spread, members of Park Slope Parents rushed to the aid of the moderators and have offered to donate money, legal services, and anything else in order to save this cherished community resource.
Members of the PSP list service expressed their shock, concern, and dismay about this lawsuit in the way they know best: by posting messages to the group.
Susan Fox, Founder and Co-moderator of PSP, said in an e-mail to OTBKB this morning: "We have received private, positive support and offers of legal assistance which has been wonderful to have."
Here are a few of the messages of support that have already appeared on PSP. Today (November 5) the list features many, many more, as well as good information about lawsuits of this kind.
The term community theater may bring to mind stale performances of "Guys and Dolls" or "Anything Goes" in dank YMCA basements. But here in Park Slope, the Brooklyn Family Theater is trying to change all that. And their production of the Royal Shakespeare Company’s version of THE WIZARD OF OZ, using the songs and script from the classic MGM motion picture is a real treat. Brooklyn Family Theater describes itself as a "neighborhood-based live theater, producing family-appropriate revivals of Broadway musicals at our home in Park Slope, and original one-act plays to travel throughout the Brooklyn community."
What impresses me most about BFT is the way they manage to stage ambitious and engaging productions of shows like Annie, The Wiz, Barnum and Bye Bye Birdie in the small Church at 1012 Eighth Avenue. Clearly, director Phill Greenland deserves kudos for the always inventive and creative sets (there is no set designer credited on the program).
A mix of adult actors and local kids, the cast of The Wizard of Oz infused their roles with energy, humor, and talent. The parts of Dorothy, the Witches, the Wizard, the Tin Man, Lion, and Scarecrow were all played by professional actors who brought charm and personality to those familiar roles made famous by beloved Hollywood stars.
It would stand to reason that a community theater just a few subway stops from the Great White Way would be able to attract high level talent. And BFT really does have a core cast of teriffic character actors and singers.
The Wicked Witch of the West, played by Lorraine Strobbe Goldbloom, was really nasty and green. Her performance would give Margaret Hamilton a run for her money – it was that good. In the program notes, Goldbloom says that "she is thrilled to be playing a role she was meant to play," and I must concur that she was one helluva WWW. Turns out that Goldboom is the co-founder of BFT and has belped direct many productions there. She teaches drama at BFT and at PS 107 in Park Slope.
But I would have to say that the kids really stole the show. As the munchin members of the Lollypop Guild, Lullaby League, Munchkin Soldiers and politicians, flying monkeys and the Jitterbugs were simply WONDERFUL. And not in a cutsey, child actor kind of way. These kids are cool and they play their hearts out.
The kids in the audience were fun to watch too. One little girl got so scared by one of the forest scenes that she ran into her mother’s arms two rows behind her.
And whenever Glinda appeared on stage in her lovely pink gown, soap bubbles rained down on the audience and the kids stared up at the ceiling trying to catch them.
After the show, my daughter wanted Glinda’s autograph and Shana Hughes was happy oblige because she is, alas, a star this small town of Park Slope.
FYI: Auditions are always open, and BFT produces at least one show per season that includes young performers in the cast. Check their web site for more information on getting involved.
To help raise money for BFT, do you holiday shopping at Park Slope’s Barnes & Noble (7th Ave and 6th Street) on Saturday Nov 5th and Sunday Nov 6th and present this voucher at the register! (Please print this page – vouchers are below.) B&N will donate a portion your purchases to Brookyn Family Theatre!
The alarm clocks are ringing in our house an hour early. We haven’t gotten around to changing all our clocks yet. Sleep. That most blessed state is also the most easily interrupted.
I keep forgetting to change my son’s duck alarm clock even though the return to daylight savings time happened three days ago. He sleeps right through it.
My husband’s cell phone plays this jaunty circus music when it goes off at 5 a.m. (previously 6 a.m.) Every time I hear it I think: "Time for clown school." And then I giggle. And then, I’m awake. He sleeps right through it.
Sometimes I joke that I haven’t really slept in 14 years. And yet it’s true. Since my son’s birth in 1991, there have been so many reasons to pop up at 3 a.m. Waking up when the baby cries. when it’s time to breastfeed, or change a diaper. "I need a glass of water." "Mommy, I had a bad dream," "Mommy, I have to throw up,"
Sometimes it is anxiety. Those "omigod, I forgot to do…" thoughts that wake me up at 3 a.m. and leave me ruminating while listening to the airplanes fly into LaGuardia wishing I could fall back to sleep.
Or else I wonder if my children are in their beds and check to see if they are still breathing.
Or else I worry that they might be cold and check to make sure that they are tucked in.
The fact that mothers don’t sleep well is something I hear from many mothers I know. You have to wonder how this sleep deprivation is affecting us. The importance of sleep for mental and physical health is scientifically proven. How is this sleep-interrupted state influencing our lives?
The only times I sleep well are those rare occasions when I sleep somewhere without my children. Then I sleep deeply without the hypervigilent worry that keeps me slightly awake most of the time. It feels good to sleep through the night and it’s such a treat.
That said, there is something magical about the way Park Slope looks at night from my bedroom window. There’s a tree in the foreground, backyards below and the lit and unlit windows from the brownstones on 2nd Street. The sky above is city-sky-black with a smattering of stars – not many – but some. Someone has a soothing wind chime, which blows in the breeze.
We still need to change those alarm clocks. It’s been nearly a week and I’m getting tired of hearing that clown music at 5 a.m. Besides, I need whatever sleep I can get. No sense in waking up early when I haven’t really slept at all.
OVERLAND, a new show of paintings by David Konigsberg opens TONIGHT at the Allen Sheppard Gallery. 530 West 25th Street. 3rd Floor. Thursday, November 3, 2005. 6-8 PM
Imagine this: You’re invited to a very nice person’s house. You sit on her nice couch. She serves you a nice cup of coffee or tea and a Cousin John’s croissant with some butter, some jam.
You have a conversation. Then your hostess says something you don’t agree with. Would you:
a. Politely disagree and state your own opinion.
b. Insult her profusely, call her stupid, idiotic, and pathetic.
c. Spit on her furniture.
d. Keep it to yourself and continue to enjoy the tea, your croissant, and her lovely company.
Maybe I’m being a tad sensitive, but some of the people who’ve left comments about "Celebs at the Playground" have bad manners. I understand if they don’t agree with what I had to say. That’s fine. But why are they spitting all over my site?
These commenters obviously haven’t been following my posts about Jennifer C., an actress I hugely admire who happens to live in Park Slope. "Celebs at the Playground" is just one of many posts about status, celebrity, and envy.
Anyone who spends enough time at OTBKB knows that I’m neither stupid or pathetic. I am, however, interested in exploring ideas as they occur to me.
Read me. Disagree with me. But please, don’t say such nasty things. Don’t you have manners?
Halloween morning, the kids popped out of bed early, ready for their breakfast candy. "Stop stealing from the trick or treat bowl. That’s for later," my husband bellowed. Even my son who is historically difficult to rouse in the morning, was up and ready for high school in record time, his pockets stuffed with Hershey’s kisses.
My daughter packed her cowgirl chaps in her pink backpack. "Just in case my teacher lets us put on our costumes." This was unlikely because her school prohibits any recognition of Halloween in sensitivity to the children whose religious beliefs prevent them from participating.
I tried to get some real work done on Monday but by 2 p.m, I surrendered to the reality that Monday afternoon and evening were for one thing and one thing only: Halloween.
First crisis of the day was the case of the missing cowboy hat: my daughter searched the apartment high and low. She finally unearthed it underneath my son’s bed.
Second Crisis: my son needed a shirt for his impromptu pirate costume. "You can wear this black shirt of Dad’s." I told him. "No he can’t," my husband screamed from the living room. "That’s my special shirt."
"it’s alright, mom," my son said, ever-attentive to my husband’s moods.
I did manage to find a billowy white shirt in the closet. Teen Spirit strapped on his belt, plastic sword, and the pirate hat he’d purchased at Rite Aid, ready to join a band of roving teenage pirates who were waiting downstairs.
Aargh.
Trick or Treating on Seventh Avenue, my daughter was, characteristically, driven to procure as much candy as she could possibly fit into her shopping bag. We were joined by Sonya my sister’s newly adopted one-year-old daughter from Russia, who was dressed in a zip-up bunny costume with little paw gloves and a cloth carrot.
Her first Halloween ever – god knows what she was thinking. Big brown eyes open wide, she inhaled the crazy costumed scene from her stoller.
The group went back to my sister’s for some apartment-building style trick or treating. Volume is what that’s all about. "Let’s see," my daughter calculated. "They’ve got six floors and eight apartments on each floor
