Orchard Beach

Last stop on the 6 TrainYes kids, there's a beach in the Bronx.With outdoor cafes and the ever popular beer standsAnd dance floors. Damn, Mami... don't hurt me with all that latin flavor.
Bongo drums, lil shorty bustin a move and what's that you say? A cowbell? Gotta have more cowbell!

Why harp players are bad ass

It's 2:00 in the morning. I am flipping channels and I came across this channel that was showing a woman playing an organ while another woman plays the harp. I can honestly say that I have never seen someone play the harp up so close. That shit looks hard!

Her jacket was pretty sweet too.

Random New Yorkness

Street Art
Door
Da Bronx across the river
Crack is Wack
The Sky Tram to Queens

The New Hood - Part 1

Maybe you know, maybe you don't -- but I moved. Here are some shots of the new neighborhood - Spanish Harlem.

The East River, Ward's Island Bridge, and the Upper East Side
The track at Thomas Jefferson ParkLost in the river

Silent Guitars

The bus rolls by as mattresses are unloaded in the night,
the music in my head has me seeing things and imagining places I've been before,
almost home and rest is near
men on the train play guitar with more heart than talent,
singing out to the ones they lost long ago
how can I imagine their pain,
how can I sleep when their eyes never rest, even while closed?

Where have I been?

Ok, so perhaps an explanation is in order. I mean, I would love to have some dramatic way to restart this little blog project. But I think it might need a little explanation. But really, who's listening anymore anyway?

I'm convinced that anyone who read this blog for any reason at all has long since found somewhere else to be, somewhere else to spend their e-time.

Wow! Listen to me, I am ranting and in the process perhaps alienating any person that has had enough faith or interest in me to check back on this site once in while.

Sorry about that.

Back to our story...

Where have I been?

You know I am sure there are plenty of excuses I could throw out right now:
1. I've been too busy
2. My computer crashed
3. I couldn't pay the internet bill

But the reality of it all is that I was distracted, (and lazy). I gave up a piece of myself and invested it in another effort.

And now I am reclaiming that piece. And as I restart this personal project of reading and writing matters I plan to make a few changes. Hopefully, they will be for the best. Stay tuned...

A Dawning

Sometimes it's hard to when know when stop.
When things have gone too far and we are no longer the person we are,
but instead the person we feel we ought to be.

Every so often the occasion arises were we must ask ourselves some serious questions
and deal with the finger-pointing results.

To look inward is to face the truth. To deal with the truth takes a firm commitment and a sometimes heavy heart.

It begins...

In Joba We Trust

Modell's Window. 42nd ST. Whether you like the Yankees or not, it is cool to see a kid from Nebraska becoming such a big deal. I just read that he signed a deal to promote this sporting goods chain and now they have this full window display with his jerseys, a couple of designed shirts and a new slogan: "In Joba We Trust"

Anybody looking for a job?

Maybe you can play the part of Biggie. Seen in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, home to the Notorious B.I.G.
RIP Notorious One -

Finding a Dead Guy in New York - Part II?

Harlem, Saturday night, 2:30AM. I am walking the roommates dog and doing my best to walk a straight line being that I had been out watching football and drinking beer for a few hours. As I made my way back towards the apartment from the park I noticed a person laying in the street. I thought for a second that it was a kid, like a teenager or something. I wasn't sure what was going on, but no one around seemed to really be concerned with the fact that this guy was literally laying in the middle of the cross walk. I didn't know if he was shot, stabbed or whatever, all I could tell was that he was not moving. As I got closer I could see that it was a Hispanic guy, probably 24-25 years old. He was knocked out, I mean dead to the world.

Another guy walking past said that he had kicked him and the guy wouldn't move. We decided to pull him out of the street. I mean he was just laying there where he could have been run over by a car or truck or something. We got him to his feet, he was wasted. I don't know if it was booze or if something stronger was at work, but this dude was messed up.

After he almost stumbled into traffic a few times we decided to flag a car. Once we got a car to stop we pushed this dude in the back, much to the driver's dismay, and shut the door. Last I could see or hear, our friend was trying to describe an address in some very drunkin spanish.

Wait a sec...

I see this truck almost 3 times a week. I am guessing it delivers some sort of meat provisions to one of the hotels that line 40th St and Bryant Park. Its always parked in the same spot and I always think the same thing when I see it.

NEBRASKALAND!?!????!!!!! Are you kidding me?
Funny thing -- hardly anyone here can even tell you where Nebraska is! And yet, this company uses the name as a marketing ploy to make people believe their products are somehow better.

Oh, but wait... there's an address. Finally a clue to help some people out. Finally... someone who can tell me where Nebraska is... That's right! Nebraska is in the BRONX! Wanna visit? If you're from Nebraska (big ups!)and want a good laugh - Check out this company's site and find directions right here.

Oh The People You'll Meet

Mike -

Tonight, Mike washed my roommates car. I had never met Mike before, but I am pretty sure that my roommate had talked to him a few times. The short end of the story goes that Mike is a guy from the block, tries to earn a few bucks here and there doing things for people. "This is my hustle," as he puts it in while spitting ice chips onto the street.

Mike was paid for washing the car and we were enjoying a drink on the stoop. He told us his story. Explained to us that he had been given 3 lives. His first life nearly ended in 1983, when he got shot, in the chest, 4 blocks from where we sat. He had been a number runner. One night he's walking, some dudes role up and before he realizes it, an encounter takes place, he is shot and laying on the ground. Wound up at the Harlem Hospital. (Specializing in babies and gun shot wounds, no lying). They saved his life.

Life number 2 was almost taken a few years later in upstate New York when, while crossing a street, Mike was hit by a car. He flew through the air, landed on his head and was cut from the top of his head to his jaw. Once again, doctors put him back together, but Mike couldn't remember who he was. After they ran through some names, he remembered. They wanted to take him home. He didn't know where home was. So he got in a cab and drove to the city to see if something jogged his memory. As they drove, he remembered... "I live in Harlem. Yeah, that's it. I live in Harlem."

Crazy story right? He could have been making the whole thing up. Who know's? Point is, I couldn't write something that good. Something would have told me it was too much. That couldn't have all happened to one person. But maybe it did... Maybe it happened to Mike from the block.

Graffiti

Off Canal, China Town

Finding a Dead Guy in New York

We set out, somewhere -- across the city, a few train transfers and a long walk away -- to find a man. He is a man that waits, Or maybe he doesn't. This day, we would find out. We set off in search of Houdini's Grave.

Houdini,the man, the myth, the magician. Perhaps the greatest escape artist ever.

Ridgewood, Queens. Off the train we walked and cut into a cemetery just before dusk and closing time. We started in a Jewish cemetery, maybe it was called Greenwood. Then we hopped a wall into a Christian cemetery and after about a half hour we got picked up by the grounds keeper and told that we had to leave. The cemetery was closed. Alright, alright, but I had to know -- "had we even been close?"

The guy's response? "Naw. That's on Cypress. Up the hill, left, and then down 'Snakes Hill'." We were in the wrong cemetery, by a long way. We decided to continue walking, hoping that somebody would let us in, even though every other cemetery (and there were a lot) was closed.

Hate to sound like a Goonie here, but I didn't come this far to give up.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost -- We Found It! Mecpelah Cemetery
The gates stood wide open. The building was empty. Windows broken, doors boarded up. It was pretty obvious that no one had used this place in a while.

But.. just inside the gate, there it was... the Houdini family plot.

And here is the man we came to see. Harry Houdini.
The grave was simple. It only bore his last name and the name of his wife. There were a lot of trinkets, notes, playing cards, coins and other items placed around the stone. I left my own.

As we stood there, I had to wonder, after all the escapes he made in his career, "was he really there? Who knows? Maybe the greatest trick of his life was escaping death and convincing the world he was gone.

Every year, people come on the anniversary of his death, Halloween to hold seances to raise the great magician from the dead. Long live the King!

God Spoke to me... at Yankee Stadium

It's true... I swear it. It was a religious experience. It had to be.

(OK, so let me stop, and say this -- I realize that I have posted quite a few times about the Yankees recently. I'm sorry. The last thing I want to do is change this blog into an every day rambling about my feelings for a certain team that plays in the Bronx).

However, I had the opportunity to attend another game this weekend, my second since moving here, after scoring some great seats for next to nothing. Here was the view, right behind home plate>
Turns out the Yankees didn't have it and they ended up dropping the game to Tampa Bay. Petite was shaky after the 5th and then it all fell apart. I don't see how you sweep the Sox and then choke on frickin Tampa Bay. Anyway... I digress.

To the point, my religious experience. My awakening. It happened ... in the bottom of the 6th! I was sitting in my seat, trying to cheer the Yankees into a rally and suddenly, it appeared, clear as day. Up there, in the clouds... I see something...


HEINEKEN. Hmm, GOD wants ME... to drink... HEINEKEN. Maybe this religion thing isn't so bad after all.

The Best BBQ in New York

I recently heard about the Hudson River Park BBQ and Blues Festival and made plans to spend a Sunday afternoon investigating. Now here is something I could really sink my teeth into, both musically and quite literally. I am a huge fan of the blues and an even bigger fan of some good BBQ. And having lived in a BBQ rich cities like Kansas City and Memphis, I feel like I have a good eye, and mouth for picking out some great BBQ.

I have to admit although it sounded cool - attending the festival served a larger purpose. You see, I am on a mission. I need to find the Best BBQ in New York. Since my arrival I have sampled a few places and I will review them below. From this point forward I will document and rate each BBQ experience until I have settled on the Best BBQ in New York. From this point forward, this mission will be known as... "The Quest for the Best."

To provide some continuity to this project I will rate each BBQ eatery on a scale of 1-5 in 3 key categories: Meat, Sauce, and Overall Experience. Let me catch you up on the competition so far:

1. Oklahoma Smoke House BBQ - (145th and Adam Clayton Powell Blvd.)
Meat - 3
Sauce - 2
Overall - 2.5
The food was decent, sauce was quite watery, service was decent. It was their first day so I will give them some time and check it out once their process is ironed out.

2. Brother Jimmys Express (Grand Central Station)
Meat - 3.5
Sauce - 3
Overall - 3.5
I heard the actual location is better, but I was impressed with this Pulled Pork especially since it was found in Grand Central Station and is close to work.

3.Dinosaur BBQ - (@ the Hudson River Park Festival)
Meat - 4
Sauce - 3.5
Overall - 4
A great plate of food. Grabbed this platter with BBQ beans and cucumber and tomato salad. Sauce was right on.
(Here's a good look at some of the action from that slightly rainy, yet tasty Sunday afternoon.)
The search goes on.

A Night with the Yankees

Tonight the Yankees take on the Anaheim Angels. The game starts late, about 9:35 Eastern, since it is being played a few hours west in California. I start listening to the game on the radio after dinner as I often do. This is partially because I don't have a TV, but also because I enjoy it. Its old baby and in my mind - you ain't a fan if you can't sit down and listen to a game on the radio. I decide that tonight I need to stay awake and listen to the game til the bloody end. This decision leads me to another thought. Although I have been a Yankees fan for many years, this is my first year with the Yankees.

Admittedly, I moved here mid-season, in June and can't really say that I have been here an entire season. However, this season has seen its share of ups and downs and as the playoff races narrows I can feel myself getting sucked in even further. It's been a whirlwind of Yankee nostalgia for me the last few months, culminating recently with the passing of Phil Rizzuto. So I must apologize in advance to anyone that was already annoyed with my zeal for the Bronx Bombers because I think it is getting worse. If the Yankees make the World Series I might start pawning possessions, to get tickets.

Hurry! Get the Camera

Friday night. Walking with my roommate to fetch her misplaced purse from a Mexcian food joint. I had just opened a beer, so whatever, I brought it with. We walked several blocks, topped a hill and then I demanded to sit down on the curb. So there we were, panting, thirsty and in possession of cold beer in a water bottle.

Me:(*drinking)
J: "Let me have a drink of that beer."
Me: "Hold on" (*drinking)

We're there maybe 15 seconds, a man is crossing the street and then loudly he begins laughing and saying:

"Hold on! Let me get my camera! I need a picture of _ this. Two, white people - sittin on the curb - in Harlem - gettin sloshed! It's a beautiful thing. I know Harlem is changed to see something like that."

Then we talked to the guy for a few minutes, drank some more beer and kept walking.

The purse was recovered, intact. I remind myself I am glad that I don't carry a purse.

Favela Rising

Low Library, Columbia University - Tonight I was able to attend a free screening of this film and it changed my outlook on life, music, culture, and Brazil. A great story about the power of music and the ability of one person, or a few persons, to make a change in our world. If you're into poetry, music, working for change, helping youth or making the world a better place, then make sure you check out this movie.

Buy the DVD!

Oh... by the way

This one is for you readers out there living in somewhere besides New York. I came across some other basic things to know when in New York in a magazine called VICE. I had to basically quote the parts of the article I liked because I love the writing style infused with New York attitude and the advice is certainly true.Without further explanation, here are VICE's ideas on what you need to know:

Say "Excuse Me"
New Yorkers always say 'excuse me.' They realize that the person they bumped might be a crackhead with a carpet cutter that wants to cut your face from above your eyebrow straight down your chin. Not only should you say excuse me if you bump into someone, you should even turn back and put your arms out in a ready kind of " I'm here to stabilize you if you fall" way. This helps emphasize sincerity. It is not a pussy thing to do this by the way. It's more like a prison/biker show-of-respect thing that is actually tougher than blindly walking away.


Nobody Cares
Guess what? People in New York are over it. That doesn't mean they don't like stuff - it means that they don't give a shit why they like stuff. Don't come here and go, "Hey guys, this is a little embarrassing, but I love that Journey song 'Open Arms'! We'll just say "Big Whup, that song is pretty good."

Dress for Success?
Trust us, nobody gives a shit why you wear what you wear. It either looks good or it looks bad. It doesn't matter if you think a pair of lime green sweat pants is "hilarious." They either look like shit (more than likely) or they look amazing (not totally outside the realm of possibilities).

Way to go Vice! For more rules check out the previously posted Things to Know when in New York. More rules to come.