Hey, have you heard of this thing called Tumblr?

As usual, I'm woefully late to the party.  Tumblr is pretty grand.  Its layouts are interesting and much more versatile than Blogger's.  I started checking out Tumblr when I discovered a few of my friends' blogs on there, and then I created one for my workshop, and then one for me to write whatever I wanted.

Check out my tumblr.

Neat things about tumblr:
- you can change your domain name at any time, as long as it's not taken
- you can do photo slideshows!
- the selection of formats is pretty great!
- you can add new pages to your blog
- it's easier to upload pics and videos, and you can play around with them more

I wish I could combine my Google account with my Tumblr account so that all the blogs I follow would be in one place.  I can't add Tumblr's to my Google reader.

Tumble away!

video blogging of Crown Heights

As I was contemplating exactly how I wanted to start writing more journalism pieces, I thought about conducting interviews with people in my neighborhood.  I've stopped by and chatted with these people, but wouldn't it be interesting to hear their life stories?  How did Lily, a Nigerian woman with a PhD in pharmaceutical science end up opening a bakery?  How does Sue Rock, who donates all of her profits from her clothing store to local rape shelters, support herself?  Ja, who makes juices and soups at Veggie Haven on Franklin Ave, works every day and commutes to and from the Bronx.  How did he and his mother open a business in Crown Heights?

More rants

Brooklyn Larder is a damn "fine purveyor of high quality, locally sourced foods."  I recommend their couscous.

Boxing upsets me.  It's difficult for me to imagine that a sport where the sole purpose is to maim the opponent.  There's not even a ball or a field for some kind of distraction.  Just pure brutality.

Vulnerability, yo.

Check out F*cked in Park Slope.  This lady has some 'tude, and it's funny.

Freedom is the next book I will read.

Update

Hi Bill, I'm laughing too!

It's been over a month since I've written and here's why:

- taking another writing workshop with Sackett Street
- running another writing workshop in Crown Heights
- teaching English to immigrants in Bushwick
- working a day job
- working on my novel
- submitting stories to journal

I'll also receive training to become a workshop leader for the New York Writers' Coalition, a wonderful literary nonprofit that runs creative writing workshops for at-risk youth, prisoners, cancer patients, the homeless, the elderly, and other marginalized social groups.

Random thoughts:

I didn't watch the Oscars, but I watched Colin Firth's speech.  He is humble, intelligent, and funny.

Thoughts on Black Swan: *spoiler alert*
I didn't like Black Swan as much as I gather others did.  The glowing red eyes towards the end?  A little hokey.  The disturbing images and hallucinations of pain - these were interesting.  I've hard some people rail against Aronofsky's portrayals of women.  I don't remember too much about Requiem for a Dream (mostly being really depressed and disturbed after the movie ended), but I heard someone say Aronofsky thinks women have to choose between the black and white swan.  We don't have the ability to embrace both.  I think this is an interesting take: after all, Nina dies in the end when she finally embraces the Black Swan.  She couldn't have been successful and passionate, a perfectionist and completely open to pain and her less socially acceptable desires.  We see part of her struggle between the black and white swan tendencies through out the film, but I do wonder why Nina had to die.  This seems so extreme, and almost like avoiding a more complex resolution of letting the character continue to struggle - as humans really do.

I started Bill Bryson's The Lost Continent.  My god, who else reads this amazing travel writer?  Or am I the only one who hadn't heard of him until now?  I first discovered Bryson in a collection of essays edited by Ira Glass, The New Kings of Nonfiction.  Bryson wrote about interviewing some English football fans during one of the major matches (can't remember which one).  His hilarious and frightening account, plus his excellent writing, won me over.  About a year later, I visited a wonderful exhibition on maps in Katonah, NY and saw The Lost Continent for sale at the museum front desk.  In their own manner of supporting journeys and the transmission of artifacts, the museum had bought a few travel and map-related books off E-bay and were selling them for next to nothing.  Bryson is absolutely hilarious - so much that I'm hesitant to read this book on the subway in the morning because every other paragraph makes me laugh out loud (my laugh is a little annoying).  His satirical commentary on the Midwest in this book is biting and honest, and he can get away with it because he's from there.  If you haven't checked him out, I highly recommend you do.

Happy end of February, all.  Can you believe 1/6 of the year is over?

Crown Writes: a local literary talent showcase

Come hear works from 4 local residents and past participants of the Crown Heights Writing Workshop. Rhoda Belleza, Nick Juravich (famed I love Franklin Ave blogger), Baruch Tauber, and I will read from our  collections. Laugh, cry, mull, and drink! There will be a limited quantity of free wine, and guests are encouraged to supplement this with their own drinks!

LaunchPad: http://www.brooklynlaunchpad.org/
I love Franklin Ave: http://ilovefranklinave.blogspot.com/

snow

I stay up, partly to hear the Mayor's decision on New York City school closings, which will affect office closings.  The cars and street oustide my apartment grow dim under layer after layer of snow.  A woman dragged her suitcase down the middle of the road, and I wondered where she could be going or coming from at such an hour and thought about her toes.  They must be numb.  Her neck may be moist with melting flakes, and her cheeks stinging from wind gusts.  A kitten kneads a pillow by my side.  My radiator spits and cackles, and I think the elderly people in my building must be content with the heat coursing through the pipes.

I just watched Jon Stewart's reaction to the Giffords shooting.  It was one of the most sober pieces I have ever seen him present.  The shooting and the snow kindle some mixture of sadness and nostalgia in me; I don't know why the nostalgia.  Maybe because I think of sitting on a couch in the piano room of my old home in Virginia.  I used to look down our property to the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains that were draped in snow during the winter months.

Happy snow day, everyone.  Stay warm.

blizzards, stranded buses, clinking radiators, and a stillborn baby

I returned home tonight to an exasperated household.  My roommate described the scene I had just missed: a young woman gave birth in our foyer.  Ambulances couldn't reach her in the snow, but several policemen and firemen arrived on the scene though they proved be of little help.  They were ill-prepared for the details of labor, and were hesitant to even touch the baby.  They banged on our door and demanded towels, sponges, and blankets.  My roommate called her father, a former EMT, and tried to relay his guidance.  They cut the umbilical cord with the bourbon-soaked scissors she passed them.

Nobody had seen this woman before.  We don't know where she lives or how long she was walking before she collapsed in our building.  The woman was quiet during the whole process.  She seemed to be in serious shock.

The maelstrom of events makes me stop and ponder: it's been one hell of a 24 hours.  A disastrous blizzard left buses and cars strewn in the roads and Christmas just ended.  The mountains of snow are beautiful yet eerie.  3 buses are parked in the middle of Dean street and more cars are askew in major arteries around Brooklyn.  The whole scene recalls an apocalypse.

The police returned to thank my roommate for her help and to say the baby didn't make it.  They said the girl was only 22.

May you and your family be safe and healthy this holiday season.

blank fingerpads

During the winter months my hands grow so dry that the skin on my fingerprints flakes off, leaving me without the customary means of identification for humans.  This has proven a little problematic in my new work space where devices register your fingerprint or ID card before allowing you entry.  I have been using my ID card since I arrived, but this makes me ponder that for a few months each year the police would have difficulty tracing my physical presence at any scene.  If I were missing, if I committed a crime and no drop of my blood were shed, how could they find me?  What remnants of my presence would they rely upon?  I walk among the cold winds of New York anonymous and untraceable.