RESPONSE TO TIMES’ ATLANTIC YARD ARTICLE

July 2, 2007 louise crawford 2 Comments

No Land Grab, the essential Internet portal to all Atlantic Yards information, articles, and press has an assortment of responses to Sunday’s New York Times piece. Thanks to Amy over there for putting it all together. Here’s a preview:

Over at Atlantic Yards, Norman Oder asks: "What’s the bottom line regarding Atlantic Yards, based on today’s New York Times article? The issue, to David A. Smith,
an affordable housing analyst in Boston who’s previously reviewed
Atlantic Yards documents (but not the new ones), is the future balance
between developer profit and affordable housing, and who gets to decide." Read more at AYR.

Over at Develop Don’t Destroy there this: "There are some errors and oddities in the article that strain
credulity. One error is that the huge Frank Gehry ego-trip, aka "Miss
Brooklyn," will open in 2009. That is pure fantasy, considering the
developer is terribly behind schedule due to lawsuits." Read more at Develop Don’t Destroy.

Postcard from the Slope

MARATHON READING OF JACK KEROUAC’S ON THE ROAD

July 2, 2007 louise crawford

At Naropa University in Boulder Colorado, there was a 12 hour reading of On the Road, Jack Kerouac’s beat masterpiece that is 50 years old.

Fans and some close friends of the late author took turns reading his
most famous novel aloud on Saturday.

It was the kick-off to the university’s first Kerouac Festival.

No Words_Daily Pix by Hugh Crawford

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

July 1, 2007 louise crawford

Postcard from the Slope

HEPCAT, THE NOISE CODE GOES INTO EFFECT TODAY

July 1, 2007 louise crawford

Today in honor of the new noise code going into effect, which requires, among other things, that jackhammers be swaddled in noise jackets, I am re-running Hepcat’s jackhammer story. When I re-run a story I always color it red.

Hepcat and I were having a Greek salad for lunch at home when the phone rang.

Ring. Ring.

"Did you call yesterday to complain about construction noise?" a man with an adorably New Yawk accent said to me on the phone

"No, I think you have the wrong number," I said.

"Ahhhh, let me check," he said.
While he was checking, I called out to Hepcat: "Hey, did you make a noise complaint?" He was munching on some lettuce.
"Yeah. That was me," he said as he grabbed the phone.
I was more than a little surprised.

But then again Hepcat is a man of few word (they don’t call him No
Words_Daily Pix for nothing and I guess this didn’t warrant a mention
when I asked him: "How was your day, honey?" I asked yesterday. "Fine." was his simple reply."

Here’s a more detailed version of what Hepcat told the guy on the phone.

HEPCAT’S ACCOUNT OF YESTERDAY’S INCIDENT

Yesterday there was a DEP crew on Sixth Avenue at
the intersection of Third Street jackhammering the pavement away from a
manhole cover. Rather than the usual jackhammer as loud as a
jackhammer, it was the jackhammer as loud as a jackhammer in your very
own bathroom while you have a hangover. In other words much much louder
than the normal jackhammers that we all know and love.

So as I walked by on
my way to U-Haul, I noticed that the jackhammer didn’t have the
so-called muffler that they’re required to have in New York City. If
you haven’t noticed, most jackhammers have a gadget that looks like a
small lawn mower muffler sticking out of them or are wrapped up in a
little blanket much like a newborn baby. These are required by the city
because they cut the noise considerably.

So I stopped and asked the
work crew why didn’t their jackhammer have the New York City required
swaddling?

"You’re supposed to have a muffler on that, why don’t you?" I said fully expecting the converation to go along the lines of: THEM:
"We have no idea what you’re talking about." ME: "Tell your supervisior
to give you the right equipment. It’s making too much noise."
THEM: "Thanks, buddy."

Basic good samaritan stuff.

Instead, a crew
member said: "So you want to make something of it? Why don’t you call
311?" interspersed with colorful Anglo Saxon construction terms of art.
So I said: "I’ll do just that!" And I took my handy cell phone out of
my pocket and one of the crew members started waving a shovel over my
head and made various threats. One of the others tried to reason with
the guy: "Put that down," he said.

The shovel-guy chased me west on
Third Street and finally was stopped by one of the other crew members.
Phew.

Shaken up, I continued walking toward Fifth Avenue. When I
finally calmed down, I called 311 and started telling them the whole
thing. When I got to the shovel waving portion of the account, they
switched me to the 911 operator because of threats and assault by
shovel. But, I don’t know, it seemed like the door was opening into a
weeks-long Kafkaesque episode I didn’t want to be part of.

So I told
the 911 people I didn’t want to press charges and all that. I finished
talking to the nice people at 311 who were very professional and that
was that until the phone call we just got It was than 24 hours later.
Some of the city employees are doing a very nice job and some of
them…."

END OF HEPCAT’S ACCOUNT.

So when was Hepcat going to tell me that he nearly got hit on the head with a shovel?

Smartmom

SMARTMOM: WITH GRADUATION, TEARS

July 1, 2007 louise crawford

Here’s this week’s Smartmom from the Brooklyn Paper, The photograph is by Gilian Behar.

The girls were in their prettiest dresses with spaghetti straps and
Lycra. They looked so grown up with their hair done just right: what a
sight to behold.

Some of the boys were in suits; some sported Polo shirts, or simple T-shirts. Many wore dress shirts, ties, even hats.

The
parents, too, were dressed in their finery. They held video cameras
and, with relatives in tow, waited under the scaffolding of John Jay
High School in Park Slope for the doors to open for the PS 321
fifth-grade graduation.

“Congratulations to you,” Mr. Frank
McGarry, PS 321’s beloved music teacher, called out to Smartmom. “This
is your second graduation, right?”

Smartmom explained that she
was just getting a preview for OSFO’s graduation next year. Mr.
McGarry’s daughter is graduating this year.

“We still have one to go,” he said pointing to his son. His wife, Jacqi, also a PS 321 teacher, smiled.

“Are
you practicing for next year?” Ciao Bella, a Third Street neighbor,
asked. Dressed in a pretty dress, she looked suitably frantic.

“Just soaking in the atmosphere,” Smartmom replied as Ciao Bella ran off looking for family and friends.

Smartmom
hadn’t really planned on a being a fly on the graduation wall, but she
just happened to be nearby. Now that’s a lie: Smartmom couldn’t keep
herself away. She was feeling molto nostalgic. It must have been
the end of school party in OSFO’s fourth-grade class that put her in
the elegiac mood.

In OSFO’s classroom, the kids sang
“Wonderful World,” “This Pretty Planet,” and “Stand by Me,” while a
music teacher played an out-of-tune piano.

As you can imagine, it
was tear-city from the get-go. Even before. “You got tissues?” Tall and
Sultry whispered to Smartmom before the kids began. To make matters
even soppier, the kids devised their own cute choreography to go with
the songs. They rocked back and forth, waved their hands and linked
arms.

But it was when the group sang: “Darling, darling stand by
me,” that Smartmom felt a catch in her throat. And the need to cry
moved up her neck, tickled her head and finally released small watery
droplets in her eyes, which she quickly brushed away.

She hoped no one would notice, especially OSFO, who might be embarrassed to see her mom doing such a thing. Publicly.

And
if that wasn’t enough, the teachers presented a 15-minute slide montage
that was no casual tribute to the children of class 4-308. No, no, no.
There were soulful portraits of each and every child, as well as zany
group shots and artful documentation of class projects, trips, and
playground activities.

The beautifully composed and colorful
photographs oozed such a sense of community and camaraderie that
Smartmom knew her daughter was blessed with a special fourth-grade year.

Speaking
afterward, one of the teachers, a gifted rookie, said: “I will probably
remember each and every one of you for the rest of my life.”

Graduations. Parties. They’re going on in schools all over city.
These are the milestone moments that require Kleenex and a strong
Margarita afterwards.

This week on the last day of school,
Smartmom shed her annual tears in the backyard at PS 321. It’s
something she’s done for 10 years — ever since 1998, when Teen Spirit
finished first grade, that first year they were in PS 321.

And then in no time at all, it was time for Teen Spirit’s fifth-grade graduation one hot day in June, 2002. At the end of the
ceremony, the entire fifth-grade class sang the words: “Five hundred
twenty five thousand six hundred minutes — how do you measure a year in
a life?” That song from “Rent,” the musical, was a killer.

Smartmom wished she’d had a pair of oversized Miu Miu sunglasses back then.

Well,
in 525,600 minutes, Smartmom will be standing on line waiting to get
into OSFOs fifth-grade graduation. Hepcat will, no doubt, have his
digital camera around his neck. OSFO will be dressed to the nines. Even
Teen Spirit will don a clean white button-down shirt. Manhattan Granny,
Groovy Grandpa, MiMa Cat, Diaper Diva, Ducky and all the rest will all
be there.

Yup, in 525,600 minutes, Smartmom will attend OSFO’s
graduation, her last a parent at PS 321. She can barely stand the
thought. It will, no doubt be especially poignant.

If that 99-cent store was still on Seventh Avenue, she’d clean it out of tissue boxes, that’s for sure.

Peter Loffredo

AU CONTRAIRE: THE OCASSIONAL NOTE FROM PETER LOFFREDO

July 1, 2007 louise crawford

Here’s a disturbing excerpt from an article in today’s NY Times that should be required reading for all parents and teachers who so blithely pretend that psychiatrists’ motivations for prescribing medication for children is the best interest of the children:

"Psychiatrists Top List in Drug Maker Gifts
By GARDINER HARRIS
WASHINGTON, June 26 — As states begin to require that drug companies disclose their payments to doctors for lectures and other services, a pattern has emerged: psychiatrists earn more money from drug makers than doctors in any other specialty.
How this money may be influencing psychiatrists and other doctors has become one of the most contentious issues in health care. For instance, the more psychiatrists have earned from drug makers, the more they have prescribed a new class of powerful medicines known as atypical antipsychotics to children, for whom the drugs are especially risky and mostly unapproved."

As a psychotherapist for over 30 years, one who has worked with scores of school-age children, I can tell you that I still haven’t met a psychiatrist (and I’ve known dozens) whose first motivation in prescribing medication to a child is the child’s best interest. Money from pharmaceutical companies and pressure from parents and teachers who don’t want to take responsibility for a child’s emotional and mental problems comes way before the well-being of the child. I have had adults tell me in tears about their childhoods spent on medication, feeling "like a zombie" or otherwise "half-dead" or "not themselves" because of the effects of psychotropic drugs. And who cares? If you’re a psychiatrist and you can get rich writing that prescription, or you’re a parent or teacher and you can get your child to "sit still" on command by giving that daily drug dose, you don’t.
Sad, but true.
Peter Loffredo

Serving Park Slope and Beyond