Bed-Stuy Banana

Food as Art

2008-07-14T09:35:00.010-04:00

The ultra-creative denizens of Bed-Stuy strike again with these great food paintings on the window of this southern cuisine restaurant.

So yes, clearly I'm still blogging. And the above paintings are one of the reasons why. Every time I walk around our hood I get so inspired I am bursting with excitement to share my discoveries. In New York I've lived in Park Slope, Prospect Heights, the East Village, the Lower East Side, the West Village; while outside of NY, I've lived in Amsterdam, London, Vancouver, and Paris. But I've never been as fascinated with a neighbourhood as I have since I moved to this one. I've learned so much through our weekly neighbourhood walks and further research into some of the places, signs, art, graffiti and other random findings that I can't possibly stop blogging now. Not to mention all the wonderful people I've met as a result of my blog. Today we're off to Vancouver (possibly with an intermittent blog post or two in between) and will return 'full-time' at the end of July. At which time I've got a wealth of imagery and ideas in store so stay tuned and join me in my ongoing journey through beautiful Bedford Stuyvesant. In the meantime, to keep up with what's current in our hood, check in with Bed-Stuy Blog.

P.S. A huge joyful eternally grateful THANK YOU full of exotic flowers, Belgian handmade chocolates, and numerous bunches of organic fairtrade bananas to all the people who've sent me emails of love and support since this blog began. You make my day in so many ways.

Fear Da Future

2008-07-13T13:43:00.001-04:00

I find this graffiti intriguing on a number of levels. Esthetically of course, and for the text, specifically for the use of the slang, 'da' in place of 'the.' I sincerely doubt this person is unintelligent, and nor unfamiliar with the English language. Is this person a Bed-Stuy resident using rap lingo? What's their race? (Big Joe's politically correct friend would answer 'the Human Race.') Hipster Pratt student or long time resident? I can't find info on 'fear da future' as a graffiti tag. I did find, however, a Scottish traditional version of an ancient ballad:

and freestyle rap from 'Dark Lord Blaze':

World Destruction
Fail Attempts 2 burn me lef u scolded.
Now I’m gone have u heated & den frozen.
& leave u as a ststute dat ya rage has molded.
Cuz I’d nu u’d restle wit it till da cage exploded.
The followas of da lite alwayz wants me 2 follow dem.
But I jus do it 2 throttle em swallow em.
& soon dey’ll burn slowly n my digestive trax.
Dat’ll b da meal so I’ll save da rest 4 snax.
U mus b out ya mind da points u makin is aimless.
So u r here by vanished 2 da forgotten land of da sainless.
Niggaz fear da future all becuz dey saw a scary omen.
Da size of my status wood make goliath look like gary coleman.
My arise starts a republics demise.
Ya c mo defs as homicidal thoughts flooded da minds.
My lyrics about da worlds desruction.
Mite jus a metaphor about da worlds corruption.

stizzy speak eazy

2008-07-11T19:30:00.006-04:00

I discovered this great sign in a window a few days ago. Unfortunately, as I didn't read the building notices I'm not sure if it's an old establishment undergoing renovations or the promise of things to come. But while searching for info on the 'stizzy speak eazy,' I discovered this wonderful tidbit from "A Sicilian in East Harlem" by Salvatore Mondello:

I doubt the "stizzy speak eazy" was or will be quite as nefarious as Frank's speakeasy, but you never know.

Books for Chewing Gum

2008-07-10T10:15:00.000-04:00

"This will never be a civilised Country... untill we expend more money for Books than we do for Chewing Gum."- Elbert Hubbard

Fokused

2008-07-09T22:35:00.004-04:00

We only recently discovered Roberto Fokused's work, but I don't know how we missed him before, as the Changeling from Bed-Stuy Blog noted, he's everywhere. Read her great interview with this local graffit artist. To see more of his work go to his website.

Urban Gravestones - 7

2008-07-07T22:05:00.009-04:00

RIP K.K. WE LUV YOU BLOOD

RIP BUCK - Christmas in Heaven

RIP RAHEEM JOHNSON aka YOUNG BUCK - Feb. 3, 1991 - July 18, 2007. 16 years old.

When we passed by this mural, a teenager was lounging half in, half out the adjoining door. He told us Raheem had been his friend. That his death was due to a random drive by shooting, that also hit two women, one of whom is now paralyzed from the waist down. And this poor kid had watched it all happen, one year ago.

IN LOVING MEMORY, FAMILY N FRIENDS FROM BIG DUKE
Unfortunately this lovely mural has been desecrated by tags and that ugly vent.

RIP FAMILY N FRIENDS DETAIL

IN MEMORY OF KEITH D. ROCK COCKY DEZO...
Artist: Andre Charles

Breaking News: Fred is Back

2008-07-05T19:41:00.003-04:00

Your girlfriend dumped you for her therapist, your best friend moved to L.A. to pursue his acting career, you have a huge zit on your nose and your mom keeps asking you when you're going to bless her with some grandchildren. BUT help is on the way. Fred is back. Full-time. And life starts looking up. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Today's Local News: Growth, Gentrification and the World Inside my Head

2008-07-03T23:48:00.011-04:00

Despite the poor turnout at our local community garden's new members' day the garden's blooming and growing like mad.

And speaking of growth, this neighbour's put their window boxes to good use. Those green tomatoes should be transforming into bright red ones in the next couple of weeks.

Our little section of northern Bed-Stuy has been going through some changes. Good ones. Guerrilla gardener, Richard Reynolds, claims that once a long neglected area gets spruced up, that nearby areas follow suit. And our block is a notable example. When we first moved in five years ago, the front yards of nearly all the brownstones on our block were simply concrete slabs, while the back yards were dumping grounds and weed receptacles. We soon overhauled our back garden with some organic vegetable plots and our Jamaican neighbours have been competing ever since. They turned their barren dog poop infested yard into a garden extraordinare - with bright green astro turf; mosquito netted gazebo - complete with fireplace, and lounge chairs; ornate cages full of singing birds; every imaginable garden chotchke ever made; exotic flowers, trees, and this year, potatoes! While three of our other neighbours have redone the front of their brownstones, and a slew of front gardens have sprouted forth, making our front garden (unfortunately, as yet still just a concrete lot) look positively drab. Meanwhile, back at the Jewish hippie house the owner has installed custom made wooden benches, tables and plants out front.

I don't know why this sudden rush to green the neighbourhood, especially since most of these neighbours have lived here for over 15 years, but I'm loving every leaf, flower, and earthworm.

So while out on the front stoop with my son a couple of days ago, I saw our new white hipsterish neighbour whom I'd suspected of unashamedly buying drugs, pacing back and forth on Reggie and Celia's stoop. He looked nervous, clearly waiting for someone to arrive, and refused to make eye contact with me. Highly suspicious behaviour, thought I and reported this new activity to Big Joe that evening. "Oh that kid, yeah, he's my friend." This comment rendered me speechless for several minutes. "Friend? As in..." "Yeah. Friend, I've seen him around other places and he always smiles and says hello. I think he's painfully shy." Huh. This made me re-assess everything. Of course Big Joe, being "The Man" as Magnifico calls him, makes a point of getting to know each and everyone of our neighbours, and reaching out a helping hand to whomever may need one. I, on the other hand, realized in that moment, am more likely to warm to our long time neighbours of colour, simply because, as a mother they seem to warm to me. While our newer neighbours, young, white and hip, I feel look at me and my child in stroller with scorn and revulsion. But perhaps it's all in my head. In fact, I know it's all in my head. And I need to get out of my head, because it's become increasingly a bad place to be. The view is narrow, there's no air, no light, it's hot and humid with a cloying smell of old sweat socks and rotting meat, it's infested with fleas and aggressive cat-sized rats, there's no where to sit, not a drop to drink, it's claustrophobic, and worst of all, I'm all alone. I think it's time to take a permanent vacation from there and step out into the sunlight, take a deep breath, look around and see what's really going on and not just what I think is going on.

Brooklyn weather: hot and sunny.

Postcards from New Mexico

2008-07-01T00:37:00.010-04:00

The Cosmic Way.

Organic housing.

A taste of New Mexico's spectacular sunsets.

Big skies. Dry heat. Space. Lawlessness. Highest rate of pedestrian deaths in the country. Delicious and ubiquitious green chile. Earthships. It's good to get away from New York. But it's even better coming home. Although not for long. Technically I'm still on vacation, so I'll be blogging sporadically until our next trip in a couple of weeks. And going beyond the parameters of our hood. Even if it's only a day trip of the mind. Because that's what being on vacation is all about. After which, I'll be back to daily blogging. Fresher, botoxed, waxed, lipo-suctioned, bustier, tanned, and taller with more curmudgeonly banana-ness than you could possibly want or need.

Bright Space

2008-06-21T00:01:00.006-04:00

Yvonne, an inmate at Cook County Jail, visits with her 7-month-old son, Nathan, on Monday in the jail's new Bright Space room. The visiting area offers a setting where mothers serving time for non-violent crimes can have hourlong, weekly "contact visits" with their children.
(Tribune photo by JosÃ© M. Osorio / May 12, 2008)

Okay, so I wasn't planning on re-emerging until July, but I received an email from Dan Zanes' PR people to promote a ribbon cutting ceremony for a new Bright Space, "warm, enriching places in homeless shelters and community agencies that give children and families in crisis a place to play, learn and have fun," at 10 am this coming Monday. Now I've heard Dan Zanes is a popular children's musician but I'm not familiar with his music, and so have no compelling need to give him more press. However, it did seem like a good opportunity to highlight the organization at which he'll be present, Providence House:

Emphasizing the dignity of every human person, Providence House affirms its commitment to provide shelter and support to homeless, abused and formerly incarcerated women and their children in a hospitable, non-violent, compassionate atmosphere. We also strive to address the causes of injustice and work towards the full and fruitful participation in the community of those with whom we share life.

Having volunteered as a mentor through Art Start to a preteen girl living in a similar shelter in the East Village, I know just how vital organizations like this are. Partly due to that shelter, the young woman I mentored is now an honour roll student and she, her sister, and their previously incarcerated mother are living in their own apartment in Harlem, and their mother is working full-time for a phone company. The PR people were unclear as to whether Dan Zanes would be performing. I would hope so, as I don't know why anyone would make it over there just to watch him cut a ribbon. But more importantly, if you'd like to volunteer your time at Providence House, they could use your help (with anything from tutoring, child care to household repairs). They are located at: 703 Lexington Avenue (Between Malcolm X Blvd and Stuyvesant Ave.) Email: info@providencehouse.org and Phone: 718.455.0197.

So Long and Thanks for All The Fish

2008-06-17T09:22:00.007-04:00

Duane Hanson - Tourists II, 1988
autobody filler, fibreglass and mixed media, with accessories life size

Well it's summer, and now that we have a kid starting preschool in the fall, we're going to have to start taking our vacations at the same time as everybody else's families. Starting now. Be back sometime in July, possibly the beginning, more likely the end. This will also be an opportunity for me to figure out the "Why Blog?" and "Who cares what I have to say?" questions that plague me daily. In which case this might also be so long and farewell. Which I know would make some people happy. Then again, who knows, I may return with a million more ideas and images. Enjoy the sunshine.

Yo Te Amo Senor

2008-06-17T00:53:00.002-04:00

Haven't had a chance to ask Big Joe to translate just yet. But I believe the beginning says something along the lines of, "I love you sir, you are my strength, Alleluiah." A fortifying message for a dubious looking (as far as security is concerned) door.

One Caribbean Radio

2008-06-15T23:42:00.004-04:00

One Caribbean Radio on 620 AM debuted in early February this year. Located at Restoration Plaza in Bed-Stuy. From their website:

For millions of Caribbean-American listeners, Caribbean radio is "Home away from Home," and the needed vehicle to move listeners along in their quest for oneness as exemplified by the music mix that has wide cross-Caribbean appeal, the need for information about, and discussion of the issues that concern the Caribbean population in New York and the Diaspora.

It's interesting, as we wander along in our little bubble, our own personal universe of which we are the center, to look up, on the subway or on the street and see someone or something that is so not of our world. To become aware of the hundreds, thousands, millions of other universes that float alongside our own, or to even collide with one of them, or in the best possible situation, be invited in.

Caribbean radio, like everything else, is not without its own internal politics. Like in this 2002 article from Jahworks which talks about how Caribbean radio stations were affronted when Jamaican musicians put aside their "horrendous demands" and performed for free, which they apparently never do for Caribbean stations, for Hot 97, a station that only dedicates "three hours per week to Jamaican reggae/dancehall music." Or this one from CaribVoice which investigates the problem that independent Caribbean radio producers have in getting support from advertisers. So check out this new radio station in the hood. Expand your universe if it isn't already a part of it.

Today's Local News: Block Parties and Curmudgeons

2008-06-13T23:21:00.017-04:00

Mother Theresa, humanitarian and advocate for the poor and helpless.

Archie Bunker, working class bigot.

I woke up this morning to a ringing doorbell. Looking out the window I didn't see a UPS, Fedex, National Grid, or USPS truck so I didn't answer it. I wasn't in the mood to talk to Jehovah Witnesses or the constant stream of people on the block looking for Big Joe, who wasn't home. Not to mention the fact that I was naked and would have had to find clothes for both me and my three year old. He's young and clingy enough that he freaks out if I go downstairs without him, but old enough to be self-conscious about being naked in front of strangers. Fifteen minutes later it rang again. I looked out, saw a man walking down our stoop looking up at the window from which I was peering. I quickly ducked. My son and I were both still naked. I peered out cautiously, partly hidden by the curtain. People were dragging a large barbeque on wheels on the opposite sidewalk, traffic was blocked off, and tables were being set up. This could only mean one thing. Block Party. But not our block party, despite the fact that it's on our block, but a party from the neighbouring Covenant House on the corner.

I showered and got us dressed. But before I was even done, the bell rang again, this time over and over and over. This person was not going away. I ran downstairs, offspring in arms, buttoning up both our outfits as I descended. I opened the door. A young woman stood there. "Is that your car?" she asked. "Because we need you to move it." This instantly intensified my bad mood that had been building since the first door ringer. For not only do we not own a car but we reject car culture. We're cycling activists. And if we did own a car it certainly wouldn't be a pale blue gas guzzling SUV. "No," I said curtly. "We don't drive." And then I pretty much slammed the door behind her. I didn't really intend to. I just closed it a little more forcefully than normal and the wind did the rest. Then I felt bad. For a millisecond. Before I got irritated again and promptly left the house, fleeing down the street with our stroller before the music began.

I would like to be the Mother Theresa of Bed-Stuy. I really would. I have altruistic tendencies that even at times manifest themselves into action. I've worked at soup kitchens, homeless shelters, prepared food for people with HIV, collected money for UNICEF, painted banners and marched in peace rallies, tried to start unions, read to blind people. I want to help my fellow man and woman. I do. I want to be peaceful and loving to everyone around me. I want to spread joy and good will and homemade cookies.

But the sad truth of the matter is that I am the Archie Bunker of Bed-Stuy. A curmudgeon from birth. My mother always said I had a 'difficult personality.' Once at a job interview at a restaurant in London, I told the interviewer that I loved people, and not only was not struck down by lightening but was hired. Big mistake on their part. I've worked in the service industry for years, primarily as a waitress, and have been told on several occasions by my customers that I should not be a waitress. I could not agree more. And I despise parties. The thought of making small talk with strangers fills my soul with dread. And block parties. Ugh. I mean they're great for the block, for a sense of community, halting car traffic for a day. That's all wonderful. As long as I don't have to attend. The smell of searing flesh, the ear-splitting, pavement-shaking disco/hip hop/techno music. The crowds of people. What is someone like me doing in a city of over 8 million people?

Yesterday I was buying organic eggs at Mr.Kiwi's and it was packed. It's a great addition to the neighbourhood, unfortunately for me, I'm not the only one who thinks so. So I got our eggs and queued up in line. Now the line, or rather where to stand, is not defined. One day it went past the refrigerated section, the other, past the produce. That day it was heading in the direction of the avocados. So as I was next to the refrigerated juices I made the winding detour to the back of the line. In the meantime two other people got there before me. But I'm okay. With all of this. I'm totally zen. Until Hagatha stepped up and planted her basket of groceries slightly to the right of the woman in front of me and said, "I'm behind you," before going off to do more shopping. Now I can call her 'Hagatha' as I've been called that myself, by a friend and co-worker. His other name for me being 'Attitudna.' Anyway Hagatha was a stooped, slightly deranged, clearly angry, dark skinned Latina woman in her late fifties. A curmudgeon. Like me. A pushy, line jumping curmudgeon. And I wasn't having it. So when she returned, I said in as polite a voice as I could muster, "Excuse me, but the back of the line is over there," and I pointed three people behind me. She snarled, "But there was no one behind you before, now there's three other people! And I have to go all the way around..." And then she stopped, glaring at me, not budging. I ignored her. I have let many other people jump in front of me in line at Mr. Kiwi's before. But not this time. This time I'd had enough. And then the white girl behind me said, "You can go in front of me." Which of course made me look really evil. Hagatha began pouring out honeyed sweetness, "Thank you so much, you don't know how much I appreciate your kindness. Not like some people," mutter, mutter, mutter. I began to start worrying if she was cursing me and my family and if I'd find a dead chicken nailed to my front door the next morning. Then I stewed about it all night long. Was I in the right? Was I Hagatha? What was the big deal about letting her go in front of me? It's not like I was in a big hurry. I just wanted to assert myself. But instead I was a bitch.

Big Joe and Little Joe meet and greet everyone in our hood with a smile, a handshake, a wave. While I undeservedly bask in their reflected glory. For truth be known, if I lived on this block by myself, I wouldn't know a soul. I lived in Prospect Heights for seven years and didn't even know the people in my building. Except for the neighbour across the hall, and I only knew her because she hated me after she asked me to stay home all day and watch her apartment when her lock broke because she wanted to go out with her friend. And I refused. Then as she was a clothing designer, worked out of her home and got frequent UPS deliveries, she turned the UPS guy against me too. I'd walk out as she was signing for a package and they'd both look over at me, mumble something and then laugh uproariously. I had to totally suck up to UPS guy, so that he wouldn't fling boxes at my shins when it was my turn to receive a package. The month before I left that apartment, I was walking down the street to the Park Slope Food Co-op, six months pregnant, and UPS guy drove by and saw me. He then stopped the van and yelled out, "Hey, look at you! You're pregnant! Wow. I didn't think you had it in you." And drove off.

So if you see me walking down the street and I don't smile at you. Don't take it personally. I hate everybody.

Empty, empty, empty.

2008-06-13T00:00:00.002-04:00

Empty graffiti.

Here today, gone tomorrow.

I'm always sad to see lovely old New Orleans style houses with big front porches become vacant then disappear to be replaced by a Fedders building or worse. And we'd lose that wonderful fading ad for ladies and children outfits too.

Jack Luckner Steel Shelving. Now in Queens.

The battle rages on over the Pfizer lot, vacant since January 2007. "Affordable housing" via eminent domain or condos for the rich?

Statuary: From the Mythical to the Nonsensical

2008-06-11T20:01:00.003-04:00

Joan of Arc graces the front of the American Heart Community Garden

Mannequin heads in the window of a beauty salon. The one on the left has some seriously ugly face tattoos.

Angel from the front of the United House of Prayer for All People

Lobster and friends in daycare front lawn.

Plan B: Flophouse to Arthouse?

2008-06-10T22:26:00.017-04:00

Pleasant Stay Hotel

This hotel is on Classon Avenue on the border of Clinton Hill. In fact some may call this area Clinton Hill proper, in which case Clinton Hill is welcome to this nefarious building. Supposedly it is part of the now infamous Prince Hotel Group owned by Moses Fried. According to an eyewitness who alerted the Brooklyn Record, his other hotel, the Prince Lefferts Hotel, closed down with great fanfare in July, 2006:

There were flood lights, news crews, photographers and a slew of happy police officials gleefully taking pictures in front of the hotel. The closing was accompanied by a parade of prostitutes (as many as 20), each of whom wore assorted multi-colored wigs and hideous make-up. To combat the embarrassment of their shameful predicament they pranced out of the hotel with the feigned grace and dignity of airline stewardesses - carry-on roller bags and beauty kits in tow. Equally amusing, the Johns ran out of the hotel faster than a wet frog on a hot skillet! The men were in complete and utter disgrace; faces covered by magazines and newspapers. Despite the time of evening, many parents came out of their homes; surprisingly some even had their children in hand. Everyone cheered and gave the police a standing ovation.

Another one of Fried's buildings, 205 Parkside, which Hawthorne Street calls "The Rathole of the Month" remains closed instead of becoming its intended destiny as an SRO hotel:

The last we heard, the owners of 205 Parkside, Moses Fried and Bernice Fried, were seeking to convert their eyesore into an "apartment hotel," or, as word on the street put it, "whore house." (Mr. Fried and his Prince Hotel Group are also owners of the "Hooker Hotel.") But, as reported by Planet PLG, when Fried's gang applied for a variance to break current zoning regulations in July 2006, the request was denied. And so the shuttered building stayed shuttered, and has remained so to date.

I don't know what's currently going on with the Pleasant Stay Hotel, when we walked by recently it was quiet, in contrast to this commenter's account on the World Sex Guide from January 2006:

On my rapidly gentrifying block in Clinton Hill, there are plenty of girls standing around outside of this exceedingly sketchy place called the "Pleasant Stay Hotel." (From the looks of the place, there is nothing pleasant about it.) However, the girls are there. Most are black and cracked out of their minds. Most are 1-4, and inexpensive. I, being one of the few white people on the block, get accosted everyday. I think $20-40 will get you off. I haven't participated because the whole thing seems sketchy. Also, I am not sure that they operate out of the "hotel" anymore as I have heard that it has been converted into some sort of halfway house for HIV+ patients. This place is on Classon Ave. at Fulton St. I think they do still operate out of the "Lefferts Hotel" (same owners as Pleasant Stay) down the block on Lefferts Place near Atlantic Ave. amid the grand brownstones and brick townhomes. As gentrification rears its moneyed head, I have a feeling that the days of street action here are numbered. This part of Clinton Hill is about to undergo some serious changes as more and more people are renovating old townhomes and new construction keeps popping up. Remember, it wasn't long ago when Fort Greene was considered a ghetto and Smith St. in Carroll Gardens was a sketchy area. This area is taking its time, but will catch up sooner than you might think by the looks of the area. The more baby strollers and Passats you see, the less hookers.

Here's a course of action suggested by an anonymous commenter on Brownstoner:

Burn down the methadone clinic, The Lefferts Place Hotel, and The Pleasant Stay.
Actual advice from an actual cop on how to improve the neighborhood. Oh, if I only had the balls. Burn, Baby, Burn

Perhaps what this hotel needs is not a lit match and a bucket of kerosene, but a new owner with a vision and a palette of paints ala the Carlton Arms Hotel in Gramercy Park, Manhattan.

If this photo of a room at the Lefferts Hotel is anything to go by, it could use a little creative vision.

Room 14D at the Carlton Arms Hotel

The Carlton Arms was where I stayed in 1988 upon first arriving in New York City. I'd read about it in some hip budget travel guide and best of all, at the time, they offered discount rates to students and people with foreign passports, of which I was both. My private room with a single bed and a shared bathroom down the hall was $25/night. At the time it was still in transition from their darker past. I recall hearing a john yelling at a hooker in the room above me - his drunken tirade echoing through the air shaft. Here's a part of the Carlton Arms history:

Later on and with the opening of a few fancy restaurants that changed the face of the hood, The Carlton Arms became a fancy and respectable hotel. But not for long. Along with the '50s and travelers wanting hotels with private showers and amenities, the place started to turn sleazy, a hang out for drag queens, prostitutes and drug addicts.

Like many of New York's smaller, older hotels, The Carlton Arms became a single-room occupancy (SRO) hotel during the '60s and welfare recipients filled the place for more than 10 years when the program was abolished.

In 1981, when the hotel's manager had a complete nervous breakdown, Ed Ryan, back in New York from ten years of world traveling, inherited the job.

"The hotel started its downward slide about 30 years ago and had reached a good groove own by 20 years ago. By the early '80s, the Carlton Arms was full with madmen, junkies,comedians, ex-cons, pushers and hookers, transvestites, drunks and nuts of all kinds, women who beat you in exchange for your pay, a new generation of hippies and life's lost and lonely. It was a place to bed down and indulge," he explains.

Ryan set out to break the cycle of despair feeding despair that had set in over the years of neglect. As rooms were vacated, they were no longer re-rented to welfare tenants, but instead were scrubbed, repainted, furnished with new beds and rented out to travelers and transients who didn't mind forgoing middle class luxuries in exchange for a very low nightly rate.

Artists began to pass through the hotel and as jobs opened up, Ryan, invited several of them to work at the front desk.

Now the same room at the Carlton Arms is $80/night for one person with no discounts. And despite several write ups in magazines, it remains 'funky' - wonky floors, no room service, faulty plumbing, many rooms sharing a bathroom down the hall. Yet still a destination for tourists and art lovers alike. Flophouse to Arthouse. Seems like a logical evolution to me.

Community Gardening For Dummies

2008-06-09T22:35:00.008-04:00

This 600 square foot garden on Broadway was adopted by a local development corporation in 1983 as a place for 'passive recreation.' The New York Restoration Project saved it from auction and added new soil and plants and it is now a 'viewing garden.'

Although something about the bars, doesn't make the view all that appealing. Or perhaps it's the lack of light. At any rate, considering the need for green space in the northern end of Bed-Stuy it's too bad it's no longer available for residents to sit in and relax.

I'm afraid I was terribly neglectful as a neighbourhood blogger to post the notice handed out to me a week ago about the clean up and welcoming new members day with BBQ at our local community garden, the John the Baptist Community Garden on the corner of Stuyvesant Ave. and Vernon Ave. around the corner of Broadway. Anyway it was scheduled for last Saturday and despite the avid flyering on our block, was not even poorly attended. It was largely unattended except for Yolanda, the head honcho of the garden, one of the garden's 'officers,' three residents of the garden officer's building, a Latino family of three, and three other members of the John the Baptist Community Center. With nary a new member in sight. For some reason, despite the constant and busy traffic from people coming to and from the Myrtle train station, community garden members are hard to come by. One would think that people jump at the chance to have a little green space in this urban environment. But no. Anyway, even if you missed the BBQ, it's not too late to join, just contact Yolanda Golden @ (718) 443-5551.

Which made me think that perhaps because it's the city, the city folk are intimidated by the very idea of gardening. We have our own garden which we can barely keep up with (which is the reason we're not a member of the JTB one) and we have no idea what we're doing but we're loving it all the same, and learning every year. Aside from large corporations stepping in to give themselves a more friendly (non-sweatshop) face, there seems to be a large number of community garden volunteers cleaning up empty lots and making them bloom. This is great of course, but perhaps what we really need is some free gardening workshops. Fun gardening workshops, with food and music. Making the unknown doable and exciting. The famous quote being, "Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day; teach a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime.” I've always disliked the titles of the "For Dummies" series, however, I do like their concept, "For Dummies books use a lighthearted approach, a down-to-earth style, and even cartoons and humorous icons to dispel fears and inspire confidence." They have Gardening Basics for Dummies, perhaps a similar approach could work.

And then there's the guerrilla gardeners who turn vacant lots into gardens without permission, the most well known being Richard Reynolds and his blog, Guerrilla Gardening. The NY Times Magazine this past weekend did a profile on him with a great video on making seed bombs. Below is a video of RR and his posse in action in London:

More Murals

2008-06-08T23:23:00.005-04:00

"Shoot for the Stars," colourful community mural unfortunately marred by graffiti tags.

A mural in the abstract expressionist vein, ala Franz Kline.

The beginnings of a mural outside the French African restaurant, Le Toukouleur.

Mural (by Dennis Boswick) of the block's homeowners both living and deceased, from the Classon-Fulgate Community Garden.

Hattie Carthan, founder of the Magnolia Tree Earth Center.

And finally, in honour of this afternoon's annual Puerto Rican Parade...Boricuas in the house.

Our Local Pool - The "K"

2008-06-07T19:07:00.009-04:00

The Kosciusko Pool otherwise known as the Bedford Stuyvesant Community Pool.

Still deserted until the Parks Department officially opens the city's public pools on June 27th, 2008.

Don't even think of trying to get in there before then. Perhaps this was put into place after Andre Parker, a 16 year old boy snuck in with some friends for a late night swim and tragically died from injuries sustained from diving.

A loftier view.
Photo: Justin Farrow.

I've yet to try out our local pool, put off by the thick crowds of screaming kids and a 2005 report by the Public Advocate for the City of New York that found water quality problems. Specifically "floating matter" in the pool. I'm afraid to know exactly what kind of floating matter, visions of the film Caddyshack, come to mind.

According to the NYC Government Department of Park and Recreation:

Previously the land that now occupies this park was home to 88 families, a few individuals and a handful of businesses. The city bought the property in 1968 to provide more open space and to build a community pool. The pool was designed by Bedford-Stuyvesant native Morris Lapidus (1902-2001), who also built prestigious resort pools such as the Arawak in the British West Indies and Miami Beach’s Eden Roc and the Fountainbleau Hotel pool, which was used in the James Bond movie Goldfinger (1964).
The park has been known as both Bedford-Stuyvesant Community Pool and Henry Coursey Memorial Playground, but has long been popularly called “K” or Kosciuszko Pool. The park was formally renamed Kosciuszko Pool by Commissioner Stern in 1987.
The pool underwent restorations from 1994 to 2000, which reconstructed the electrical system, renovated the mechanical system, rebuilt the pool and portions of the concrete decks, improved the bathhouse, installed an alarm system and made architectural repairs. Funds for the restorations provided by Mayor Giuliani totaled $2,013,969.
The pool can accommodate up to 920 bathers and measures two hundred thirty feet by one hundred feet. It is complemented by a spray pool, a baby pool, bleachers and a bathhouse. There are pipe sculptures for climbing, which are incorporated into the design of the bathhouse, a large mushroom sculpture, and a flagpole with a yardarm. While Thaddeus Kosciuszko often used water in his fortifications to protect against invading armies, here at Kosciuszko Pool, water brings the community together.

It seems that Bed-Stuy has arrived when Manhattan-centric New York Magazine lists the Kosciusko Pool in their 2008 Summer Guide touting it as a good place to bring the family:

It’s like a kiddie-land version of Studio 54 when the flock of children and teens line up around the block for the split shifts. There’s no shade, either, so pack extra sunblock or take time-outs in nearby Herbert Von King Park.

Plus the SchoolFood Summer Meals Program distributes a free healthy lunch five days a week to all kids under the age of 19 and handicapped persons, regardless of age, who participate in special educations programs.

So if you want to have a dip at the "K" here's the info:

Kosciusko Pool (718) 622-5271 670 Marcy Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11216 Map it | Get directions
Cross Streets: Between De Kalb Ave and Kosciuszko St
Hours: 11am-7pm
Admission: Free
Opens: June 27th.

House of Mirrors

2008-06-06T20:01:00.002-04:00

I wonder if it's a fun house on the inside too.

Racial Profiling in the Heart of Bed-Stuy

2008-06-05T19:51:00.008-04:00

The beauty of this positive mural celebrating family in "The Heart of Bed Stuy" is marred by an intrusive ad on the left which mocks the message of the mural.

Newborn Home Visiting Program - We'd love to come visit!

The ad copy makes it sound like they'll come bearing casseroles, post-natal massage and flowers. When in actuality the Universal Newborn Home Visiting Program sends workers to "conduct an environmental assessment" of your home, and "offers information on infant health and child safety." Only the parents in the program's targeted neighbourhoods (Bushwick, Bedford Stuyvesant, and Brownsville in Brooklyn; Concourse/Highbridge, East Tremont, Hunts Point, Morrisiana, Mott Haven, University Heights in the Bronx; and East and Central Harlem in Manhattan) don't have a choice to decline their "visits." And it's no coincidence that the racial make-up of these neighbourhoods is largely black and Hispanic. According to the New York City Health Department's press release from 2007, "Poverty, race, and mother's health before pregnancy all affect infant survival" although in their study of NYC mothers of all races:

About 40% were overweight or obese before they became pregnant.

One in eight women reported smoking during the three months before pregnancy; only half of these women stopped smoking while pregnant. According to a separate survey, 16% of New York City women aged 18 – 44 smoke. Many women may smoke or use alcohol during the first trimester of pregnancy, before they know they are pregnant but during the most critical time for fetal development.

Nearly 8% reported having high blood pressure before or during pregnancy.

About one in 40 (2.4%) had diabetes before becoming pregnant, and one in 10 developed diabetes during pregnancy – a condition known as gestational diabetes.

In which case, why are just these specific neighbourhoods being targeted? The mother of Little Joe's best friend was "visited" by one of these well intentioned workers at the birth of her first child. This person after inspecting her home, told her not to shake her baby. This mother happens to be one of the more well informed women I know in regards to health. Why is it that just because we live in a low income neighbourhood that is primarily black, are we considered unable to successfully raise our children? Perhaps the reason child mortality rates are high in some of these neighbourhoods is because of a poorly structured social system, where mothers not employed full-time do not receive paid maternity leave; the free school lunches stigmatize those whose families are unable to provide them and thus the children refuse to eat in order to save face; and the only businesses encouraged to open are fast food chains that serve food low in nutritional value, while supermarkets selling badly needed fresh produce are closed down because of increasing rents.

Bed-Stuy Barbershops

2008-06-05T00:29:00.011-04:00

I've long been fascinated by the black barbershops in our hood, but haven't photographed many as I hesitate to intrude on the social life inside. However I did manage to capture these three without disturbing the barbers and their customers.

Top Cats Barbershop

Against All Odds Barbershop

Pennies Make Dollars Barbershop

Black barbershops (and beauty salons) have a long history as social meeting places. From 'The Ethnic Barbershop Directory":

"Blacks coped with job discrimination partly by setting up their own businesses. In doing so, they developed their own status hierarchy, with self-employed service businesses at the top of the ladder... Barbering was [one of] their most prestigious occupation[s], and community leaders often were barbers who operated downtown barbershops that catered to the city's elite."
-L.A. Glasco

Barbershops have, in the past, typically served a social function as well as a practical one. Men would often gather in a barber shop throughout the day to discuss the town's latest news. Discussions in barbershops have ranged from rising prices, to the latest love exploits of any given man, to the latest episode of The Jerry Springer Show..... This kind of social atmosphere has begun to taper off, however, as younger generations find different places to congregate.

*Spike Lee's NYU student film "Joe's Bed-Stuy Barbershop" , 1983, was the first to capture this world on film. Recently the book, "Cuttin' Up: Wit and Wisdom from Black Barber Shops" by Craig Marberry, gave a closer look with narratives, quotes and photographs. And the film "Barbershop," starring Ice Cube spawned a sequel plus a "Beauty Shop" film.

Here's the first black democratic presidential candidate, Barack Obama, visiting Emerson's Barbershop in South Carolina in 2007:

*A personal note on Spike Lee. When I was waitressing at Florent in the meatpacking district many moons ago, Spike Lee came in for brunch and sat at the counter where I was "in the weeds" as waitrons say. It was a busy brunch, one of my first times working at Florent as a waitperson, and I couldn't keep up with the huge inflow of hungry hungover customers needing multiple refills of caffeine and needing them NOW. Not only did I screw up Spike's order but I mistakenly overcharged him on his bill. He kindly did not freak out over the bad service, but handled it with grace, and left a fat tip on top of it all. I was always a fan of his films, but after that incident, in my book, Spike Lee can do no wrong.

Bodega Competition

2008-06-03T23:56:00.007-04:00

On our walk to the subway station, within in one short block we pass one Chinese restaurant (if you can call a single booth with the requisite lit up waterfall photo, a "restaurant." In Seattle the health department terms any food establishment with 12 or fewer seats a "food processor." whereas in New York I'm likely to call it a taxi stand), two stalls with men selling miscellaneous baseball caps, du rags, and sunglasses, one fishmonger and two bodegas.

As our neighbourhood has been gentrifying, the bodegas have been upgrading their facades. One installed a brand new sign and florescent lighting and disposed of the beat up chicken or dragon or whatever animal that sucked up 50 cents and gave Little Joe a quick ride to some music that we couldn't even hear because of the roaring J train overhead, getting sparks and drips of whatever soft drink someone had tossed on the tracks raining on our hair and clothing. While the other bodega sadly covered up with shiny black tiles what Big Joe used to call his favourite mural, painted depictions of hamburgers and coffee on their wall outside, replacing them with generic dull lit up photographs in the window instead. I was especially unhappy as I'd failed to document their former mural before its sudden disappearance.

I've posted before on the three classes of bodega menus, a topic I'm still clearly fascinated with, despite the fact that I rarely shop at bodegas, due to my low to utter lack of consumption of cigarettes, alcohol or junk food. But I consider bodegas, like Greek diners, a New York institution and would be rather forlorn should they give way altogether to yuppier establishments. Unlike Food Dimensions and the new Mr.Kiwi's with their organic items, both bodegas seem to be sticking with their tried and true stock of packaged grease and sugar. The second bodega's 'new, improved and patriotic' window advertisement below (note the American flag toothpick sticking out of the sesame bun):

Then recently, they seemed to go back to the old formula with these hand drawn pictures on a homemade sign (with rising food costs, these meat sandwich/fries/drink combos seem unusually reasonable):

A few days ago I was passing by on my way to Mr.Kiwi's and to my delight, discovered part of the old mural uncovered while they tried to fix some problem with the air conditioner (at least that's what I think was happening, could be the murals have been revealed to appeal to the hipster naive/outsider art aesthetic). Anyway here it is in its former glory.

Bed-Stuy Architectural Digest 3 - Home is Where the Art Is

2008-06-02T21:45:00.004-04:00

Bed-Stuy's artists are a quirky bunch, and we should know being residents and artists ourselves. And nowhere is this more apparent than when they express themselves with their homes.

Dinosaur skull and pink scooter out front.

Gargoyles over front entrance.

This unusual house had a fire a year or two ago on their top floors, but this fazed them not one bit, and they lovingly rebuilt their multicolored facade as it had been pre-blaze. In the summertime, giant sunflowers poke happily up over the fence.

This medieval storybook door is oddly half a foot above the ground.

Not only is there this gorgeous gate, but teepee poles rest against the wall. A future project for the garden perhaps?