Only the Blog Knows Brooklyn

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Schnack at the Lyceum

I learned on Daily Slope that Schnack, a raved about hamburger joint in Red Hook is about to open an outpost at the Brooklyn Lyceum on Fourth Avenue near President Street.

Here's what Schnack has to say about itself on their website. Interestingly, there is no mention of opening in Park Slope there. Apparently, there was something in Time Out about it.

Schnack is "about" serving authentic food at a good price. In Red Hook Brooklyn that means $1 burgers and $1 dogs. Our regular menu is available online and we have a large selection of seasonal specials. We serve Soups, Stews, Mac N' Cheese and Braised Ribs in the colder months. In the summer, we have roasted corn
(street style), fresh fish specials every weekend, and lots of other great stuff. Our milkshakes are hand dipped and we proudly serve RC Cola, Ginger Ale and Grapefruit soda from our fountain machine and ice cold bottles of Boylan Root Beer, Orange and Black Cherry soda. We always have 4 great tap beers as well.

Schnack is a partnership between Alan Harding, Jim Mamary and Harry Hawk. To learn about what's going on at Schnack just drop by our location at 122 Union St, Brooklyn.
We are located between Columbia and Hicks along the Columbia Street Waterfront area. Some people call it Carroll Gardens, some Red Hook, we called it Schnack.

We'd like you to know a bit about us. Schnack is a collaboration project between Alan and Jim who have partnered on a variety of Brooklyn eateries including Patois, Uncle Pho, The Red Rail, The Zombie Hut and the Gowanus Yacht Club and Beer Garden.

One person writing on the Daily Slope Message Board had this to say about the new Schnack at the Brooklyn Lyceum.

Oh, no disrespect towards Schnack's food in any way. I hear it's great and really a good homage to the old school new your deli stuff that is all but gone.

But from a foot traffic point of view, the Brooklyn Lyceum is not as casual diner friendly as one might think. And that horrid scaffolding is just pathetic.

But here's a silver lining. It seems like the guy who owns Schnack and all those other places on Smith Street is also buying up property. I have no inside track on anything, but I wouldn't be shocked if the guy is eyeing buying the Brooklyn Lyceum and putting it to good use. And that this little Schnack outpost is the first steps towards that space finally getting the respect it deserves.

I guess the bigger story here is what's happening at the Brooklyn Lyceum and WHY is it so underutilized? I suspect someone (and I hope it's not some developer like Ratner) has plans for it. I hope it's someone smart and creative.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_ENDLESS SUMMER

The true end of summer is NOT September 22, the day of the autumnal equinox on the calendar. It's not the first day of school.  And it's not when the stands at the farmer's market are filled with apples and robust pumpkins, or when the Korean markets display well-ordered rows of yellow and orange mums.

The true end of summer is the day the landlord puts the steam on in our apartment. It happened last night and took me completely by surprise.

According to the Rent Guidelines Board, NYC building owners must provide all tenants with the following levels of heat (During the heating season, October 1 through May 31):

    * Between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m., heat must register at least 68 degrees Fahrenheit when the outside temperature falls below 55 degrees;
    * Between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m., heat must register at least 55 degrees Fahrenheit when the outside temperature falls below 40 degrees.

The noises started before 4 a.m. I listened to the weezing and banging of the radiator that is right next to my bed in a state of half-sleep. At first I thought it was something in my dream. I didn't even acknowledge it at first. And then I did; a reunion with something I'd completely forgotten about. Steam heat.

All summer long, air conditioners and cold showers were more pertinent. How can it be time for the radiator now? Just yesterday I took a cold shower to cool down from a muggy afternoon.

Out of practice, the steam struggled up  through the pipes for the first time in months. It gave off a funny smell. In summer, we store books on the radiator; it becomes yet another surface filled with things. Those things give off a funny smell when heated by the just-starting radiator; it smelled like something was burning.

That's its way of saying "Hello, I'm here. I'm back to heat your apartment and wake you up in the middle of the night with a clanging that sounds like an avant garde orchestra."

I groan inwardly at the thought of our overheated apartment. I've so enjoyed these last few night sleeping with the windows open wide as the first strong breezes of Fall filled the apartment and made sleeping so much easier.

There's just a tiny window of time between being overheated by oppressive summer humidity and  the day when New York apartment become excruciatingly hot. 

Seems that our landlord is putting the heat on a day before he even has to. It's only September 30 today. Maybe he's testing it out, making sure it still works after a long, hot summer. A full dress rehearsal, as it were.

I'm out of practice myself. I barely remember what winter coat I was wearing last year or where my gloves, my hats, my favorite wool scarves (not too itchy, not too warm) are. Do my kids have coats that fit them? Are there any clean, long-sleeved shirts in their drawers?

Could it be that we have to think about all that again. This past summer, the heat just pressed on right until...yesterday. Maybe there will be more warm days and the landlord will have to backtrack a bit, giving us a little more time to allow the cool Autumn breezes to waft from one end of the apartment to the other. Before winter truly begins.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Jen Again

Now I remember what happens when I write about Jennifer Connelly. Everyone gets so pissed off.

I should swear off writing about our local movie star girl. I get the nastiest comments when I do. And it was all so innocent -- I was walking up Prospect Park West with my neice, Sonya, and we strolled by J's stoop and...

I don't feel guilty at all. I was actually more interested in the dogwalker who thanked the gardener for fixing the garden. There was something so Park Slope about that - the way we're house-and-garden-proud about houses and gardens that don't even belong to us. Because they're in our daily vision, they belong to all of us.

I don't think the dogwalker made that comment because it's Jennifer's house. I think she made the comment because, whoever owns that house, she feels, owes it to the neighborhood to keep that garden up. It might be a sentimental thing (I forgot to mention that she lovingly described the old garden to the busy gardener.) Maybe she knew the people who lived there previously.

It's my job to be the eyes and ears of the Slope; to observe what goes on around me. Whether it's weird, funny, uplifting, strange, sad, even stupid: no matter. I take it all in and sometimes give it back out. That's what I love to do and if I seem like a stalker (stalking who? The dogwalker, the gardener, Jennifer?) so be it.

Everytime I write about Jen I have to defend myself. Some of those comments made me feel sleazy and I'm probably one of the least sleazy people I know. I should probably stop writing about Jen, her house, her garden, her attitude toward the Slope...

But I don't think I can.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

TONIGHT: GARBAGE LAND AT BROOKLYN READING WORKS

At The Old Stone House tonight, Brooklyn Reading Works presents Elizabeth Royte, author of GARBAGE LAND, reading excerpts, talking and taking questions. Refreshments and books available.

The following is from the introduction to the book, an excerpt about Royte's adventures in a canoe in the Gowanus Canal. Hear more tonight. You won't want to miss this one.  The House is in JJ Byrne Park in Park Slope. Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th sts. 718-288-4290.

On a sunny spring afternoon long before I ever decided to travel around with my garbage, I slid off the dead end of Second Street, in the Boerum Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn, and down a seven-foot emabankment oozing green and brown liquid. I braced my foot on the end of a rotting nineteenth-century beam and prayed that it would hold. It did, and soon I was seated in a slime-encrusted canoe in the Gowanus Canal, my sneakers awash in bilgewater. My life vest and jeans now bore distinctive parallel skid marks. A sportman in a Gowanus Dredgers cap  released the bowline and casually informed me that those row house -- he pointed up Second Street - were discharging raw sewage into the canal. "That would explain the smell," I said.

It was Earth Day 2002, and I'd come out not to collect floating garbage, the siren call for two dozen local Sierra Club members - but to get a little exercise. I'd never traveled around the city, and I wanted a new perspective on my neighborrhood. I also wanted a backyard view of what the media was touting as up-and-coming real estate. "Gowanus," after morphing into the tonier-sounding "Boerum Hill" in the sixties was returning as a sales category...

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Jennifer's Garden

Walking by Jennifer Connelly's house on Prospect Park West I was pleased to see that she is fixing up the front and side garden of that corner house on Prospect Park West.

A elderly woman from a nearby apartment building was walking her dog. She went up to one of the gardeners and said: "Thank you so much for fixing up this garden." He looked at her with a WTF kind of expression and continued working.

"Did you see the garden before?" The woman asked. "I saw it a few months ago," the gardener said. "No, I mean before. Before." the woman said emphatically. "It used to be a beautiful garden."

"Well, it's going to be better than ever now," he said getting back to uprooting some dirt. The woman asked him for his card. "I don't have any cards. You'll have to ask the lady in charge.

The lady in charge is garden designer, Jane Gil, and she was there working alongside the others. She's probably a big name in Slope garden design but I don't know much about that sort of thing.

An adorable little boy with a big forehead and dark hair was watching from the front window. I wonder if that was the son of Jennifer and Paul Bettany? Recently I watched "The House of Sand and Fog" and was blown away by Jennifer C's performance in that. And I don't think I'll ever forget Ben Kingsley's final act in that movie either.

I didn't wait around to hear the conversation between the dog walker and Ms. Gil. Everyone's a busy body in this neighborhood but there are limits to how busy a body I want to be.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Daily Slope

I guess I haven't been paying enough attention. Just found out yesterday that there's a new blog on the block: The Daily Slope.

Personally I am thrilled. There's more than enough news to go around. In fact, it's hard for the lone OTBKB to do it all. The more the merrier -- more information, points-of-view, breaking stories. I plan on posting as a reader of The Daily Slope, a great way to get the word out about events, issues, and neighborhood news.

Modeled after Daily Heights, a Prospect Heights blog, The Daily Slope is a message board, with posts by locals about restaurants, politics, development, real estate, stores, and local news.

The Daily Slope is edgy and informative, and like Daily Heights, it's full of interesting tidbits about new things going on in the nabe, as well as rants about unpleasant establishments and bad food.

A community blog, the Daily Slope doesn't have a distinct voice. It has many voices, and many moods, depending on who is posting

Duh. Now I get it: Daily Slope and Daily Heights are connected. Maybe it's a franchise or something. What's next Daily Gardens (Carroll Gardens), Daily Ditmas, Daily Green (Ft. Green), Daily Clinton (Clinton Hill)?  I got this response from The Daily Slope about that idea:

A franchise? Hey, not a bad idea... who's buying?? :)

Doing Daily Slope was inevitable... the Daily Heights site was an experiment in community. We originally wanted to have a blog covering both the Slope and the Heights, but decided to keep the focus as narrow as possible to prove that it could be done.

And in the past few months, Daily Heights has really taken on a life of its own, both online and offline... there have been fundraiser bake sales, happy-hour meetups, and game nights organized by DH regulars, independently of the site administration. All the most interesting stories come from the readers, and nearly every one of the stories that's made it into local papers (including 2 mentions in the New York Times in as many months) were reader-generated.

We had been fighting to contain the focus to Prospect Heights, but there's just too much really interesting stuff going on in Park Slope, as readers of OTBKB can attest to.

I wonder if it too will take on a life of its own both offline and online. I have a feeling it will though Park Slope has a different vibe than Prospect Heights. Over there it's edgier, slightly less expensive, more diverse, more involved in the Atlantic Rail Yards/Ratner mess, less developed (and I mean that in a good way).

There's lots of good information at The Daily Slope.  I found out that there's going to be a new restaurant on Ninth Street.

Anyone been to Borgo Antico in Greenwich Village? Owner Giovanni Iovine (pictured, with Diego) and wife Lisa LoBue are opening "Futura Bistro Modern" on 9th St. in Park Slope. Partner in the venture is Davor Petrovic. Seems like Futura will be "affordable eats" and "comfort fare" that is "strongly influenced by the duo's Argentine and Italian heritage" matched with wines from Italy, France, Argentina and the United States. Grand Opening is Sunday, Oct. 2nd at 6 pm.

Futura Bistro Modern | 287 9th Street, Park Slope, Brooklyn, 11215. 718.832.0085.
Hours: 12:00pm-midnight daily; brunch on Saturdays and Sundays.

Good info. And there's lots more. Good luck to Daily Slope and welcome to the blogohood.

 

GROOVY PIX OF TEENS FOR NEW ORLEANS

Photographs by Hugh Crawford of Saturday's Teens for New Orleans show are now available here:

http://www.smugmug.com/gallery/840284

See photos of The Foundation Duo, Mod Rocket, Cool and Unusual, Capsacin, and Caliber.

Ah, the memories. Oh, the fun. Fill up those fan photo albums. Yeah. Inexpensive prints available.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_TEENS DO GOOD

Saturday night's benefit concert at the Old Stone House, Teens for New Orleans, was an unqualified sucess. At $5 and $10 dollars a head, the event raised over $1,600 dollars for the Jazz Foundation of America, an organization that is coming to the aid of New Orleans' musicians.

The show went off without a hitch. The Foundation, ModRocket, Cool and Unusual Punishment, Capsacin, and Caliber played their hearts out and the crowd, a mixed group of over 200 teenagers, parents, grandparents and miscellaneous adults was extremely enthusiastic.

Thanks to Mark Zappasodi,  a rocker, a sound technician, and a father of a band-member, the sound was excellent. Acting as stage manager with his wife Caroline Zappasodi, he made sure the show ran smoothly. And it did. There were short breaks between sets so that people could buy refreshments downstairs. Jake Gilford, grandson of the great Jack Gilford (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, those unforgettable Cracker Jack commercials from the 1960's), entertained the crowd with his comedy.

The adults enjoyed the show as much as the kids. There was a great feeling of teens and parents working together. The parents were not there as chaperones or organizers (though they did do a bit of that). It was a real collaboration built on trust and support. It's a rare evening teens and parents can enjoy together and this was one of them. There is talk of doing more benefit rock concerts at the Old Stone House, which, I think, is a teriffic idea.

On behalf of the Teens for New Orleans organizing group, I would like to thank the following
people and shops who helped make this event a reality: All the bands and their parents, Jake Gilford, everyone who came to the show, Kim Maier, The Old Stone House, Allan Bealy for designing and printing the flyer, Mark and Caroline Zappasodi, Carolyn Kearney and Bruce Cory, Theresa McElwee, Hugh Crawford, Greg Duggins, Caroline Ghertler, Beth Halper and the other parents who brought homemade goodies, all the friends of the band who carried equipment up and down the stairs, Pizza on the Park, Connecticut Muffin, Mojo Cafe, La Bagel, Russos.

Photographs of all the bands at the show by Hugh Crawford are available for purchase at:

http://www.smugmug.com/gallery/840284

 

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_MURDER ON 11th Street

Another crime of passion in Brooklyn.

In a tiny beauty shop on 11th Street between Fifth and Fourth Avenue, a man killed his ex-wife (or girlfriend) and then killed himself.

It was a crime of jealousy. Of revenge. He was angry because she was dating another man.

The woman, one of the owners of Delores' Beauty Shop, was rushed to Methodist Hospital. But she died enroute. The man was dead immediately.

The shootings occurred at 11 a.m. Soon after, the street was closed off as a crime scene. Police and news helicpopters were seen flying over Park Slope.

The beauty shop is right next door to the tiny Cafe Regular, a favorite local spot.  `

At 4:30 when I came by on my way to see my therapist, the block was closed to traffic. A big crowd of onlookers stood in the rain. But I wasn't sure what was going on. A commercial, maybe a movie. Then I realized that there was a crime scene  on my therapist's block.

I was determined to get to my appointment so I walked under the police line and walked toward Fourth Avenue. Then I was stopped by a group of four policemen with the words "Crime Scene" monogrammed on their blue uniforms.

I told them that I had an appointment on the block. They looked at me like I was crazy. "This is a crime scene. Get off the block. Didn't you notice the police tape?" One of the cops rolled her eyes.

They advised me to walk down 10th Street to Fourth Avenue and come around the other way. I arrived a little late for my appointment. My therapist had heard about the shooting from an earlier client. He hadn't had a chance to go outside.

When the session was over, I was able to walk up to Fifth Avenue from his building. Locals standing under umbrellas crowded across the street from the beauty salon were waiting for the body to come out. There were news cameras and a sprinkling of reporters with notepads and press passes. A man asked me if the woman killed was named Delores. "She used to cut my hair." A reporter asked if she was from the Dominican Republic and he nodded yes, looking sad. 

There were rumors that the woman's boyfriend had been murdered, as well. "That depends what side of the block you're on."

Another woman heard that the woman's boyfriend had also been sent to Methodist. "My friend works there and that's what she told me."

One of the reporters had the police report. He held it in his hand and said there was just one man killed, a suicide.

Crime scene policemen worked for hours marking up the small beauty shop with chalk and police tape and taking photographs. I saw a policeman wearing blue rubber gloves. I left before the body was removed from the beauty shop.

Later my daughter said that she and her classmates had noticed the helicopters flying above them in the school playground. They stared up at the sky, she said. "It hurt my eyes."

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_New Owner of the Mojo

It's official. About a week ago, the Mojo Cafe on Third Street and Seventh Avenue was sold to a new owner. Small changes are already afoot. The new owner moved some of the furniture and refrigerator cases around. The shop is already noticibly more roomy. As far as I can tell, there are no changes in personnel.

So far, it's been a fairly seamless transition from one owner to the other. Michael, the old owner posted this gracious comment on OTBKB yesterday:

To all my friends and customers at Mojo Cafe thank-you for allowing me to serve you and be a part of the community for 6 wonderful years.  Remember Corey, Park Slope's finest barista, is still there. I'll see you on the Avenue.

I'll be the first one to admit that I was dubious when the Mojo/Carvel opened six years ago. The corner storefront had been empty for a long time. It had once been a Ben's of Soho Pizza. After that, a completely inept operation called the Rendezvous Cafe opened after months of renovation. They had pages of musical notation wallpapered to the wall, as well as maps and things. There was very little food or beverage as far as I could tell.
The place closed within a month. A true mystery. What the hell was it? I always wonder if it was a front for something.

When the Mojo opened I knew it would be sucessful as a Carvel but I wondered who in their right mind would want to spend cafe-time there.

Boy, was I wrong. The Mojo is practically the Town Square of Third Street. I for one go in there many times a day. I meet friends and have PTA committee meetings there. It's my conference room-away-from-home.

For god's sake, my daughter has her breakfast there practically every day. Of course,  it's a sprinkled Krispy Kreme donut - not the most nutritious breakfast. Whatever.

The Mojo has many moods. Early in the morning it's a quiet breakfast spot for locals.

In the half-hour before the start of school at PS 321 and the schools in the John Jay building, it becomes a hectic stop for last minute breakfasts and lunch supplies.

After drop-off, the Mojo becomes a meeting place for parents and caregivers. The women I've dubbed, The Women Who Rule Park Slope, meet there on a regular basis This coffee clatch is like a Park Slope (left wing) version of ABC's  "The View." On the patio or inside, the talk is lively, topical and intelligent.

By 10 a.m. or so the parents with school-age  children have moved on to home or city offices, and the Mojo becomes a friendly hangout for caregivers and stroller-aged kids.

Lunchtime brings the mad rush of the PS 321 lunch scene, the 4th and 5th graders who are allowed to go out for lunch. Barista Cory expertly watches over the scene and makes sure that there is some semblance of order and that the kids remember to throw away their trash.

In the hour or so before PS 321 pick-up, things are fairly quiet: the calm before the storm.

At 3 p.m. all hell breaks lose. Parents and kids converge on the Mojo for hot dogs, ice cream, coffee, various and sundry after school snacks. The shop rocks with the energy of children just released from school classrooms.

<>

Last year around 4 p.m. or so, the patio of the Mojo became a huge gathering place for the teenagers of Park Slope. Things were known to get a bit rowdy. Their presence was, understanably, annoying to the owner and I believe that he put the kibosh on it. Those kids m

oved on to the playground at PS 321 - and that's another story.

What a vital place the Mojo has become in the six years of its existence. As a resident of Third Street and a parent, I wish to thank him for making the Mojo a place I never thought it could be: a really cool Carvel. It sounds like a contradiction in terms but it isn't. The Mojo is a place the people of Park Slope hold near and dear.

Best of luck to Michael who has decided to move on and do something new. And welcome to the new owner (whose name I don't yet know).

Thanks for giving us a place to be - in the many phases of our day.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_WHAT AN AIRLINE

Leave it to Jet Blue, OTBKB's favorite airline, to get famous for a near-miss crash landing. They just seem to do everything right and they've changed my attitude toward flying since I started flying with them in early 2002.

Jet Blue was the first airline with locked cockpit doors. Their on-line reservation system is excellent as are their automatic check-in kiosks. Television screens for every seat. Snacks but no yucky airline meals. Great staff Informative pilots: Jet Blue is one cool airline. 

And yesterday's big story about the the calm heroics of the pilot and crew made the cover of all the  major dailies, including the New York Post, whose headline read: JET PHEW!

An article in the San Jose Mercury News mentions that one of the passengers was Brooklyn- bound. 27-year-old, Zacharay Mostoon, a multi-instrumentalist and producer. He along with the rest of the passengers watched their frightening landing on the television screen in front of his seat.

Zachary Mastoon, 27, a professional musician who was taking the flight from Burbank back home to Brooklyn, said the broadcasts were ``a little surreal.''

``I thought how it must have been like on Sept. 11 watching on television and seeing the planes come toward the building,'' he said.

The in-flight broadcasts, however, were turned off before the final moments of the drama. For 15 tense seconds, as passengers braced themselves and prayed, the plane careened down the runway as pilot Scott Burke balanced it on its rear landing gear, holding the nose high to reduce pressure on the malfunctioning front wheel.

The aircraft then settled forward onto the nose wheel. Within moments, the front landing gear began smoking as the rubber tire burned to the rim. The wheel then exploded into a fiery display that burned until the aircraft slowed to a halt.

No injuries

As the plane came to rest, scores of fire and rescue vehicles sped toward it across the tarmac. But the passengers and crew emerged unhurt, some walking down the stairs waving to cameras and giving one another high-fives.

Burke had delivered what experts said was a ``perfect'' touchdown of a crippled aircraft.

Los Angeles Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa, who spoke to the pilot at the airport, praised him.

``He walked off the plane with a big smile on his face, just cool as a cucumber. He joked that he was sorry he put the plane down 6 inches off the center line,'' Villaraigosa said.

A JetBlue representative declined to provide any information about Burke.

A recording by a camera for Los Angeles television station KCAL of the pilot's conversation with a ground crew member reveals a calm man who even had time to joke about his predicament.

``Do you want to trade places with me?'' Burke asked a mechanic on the ground.

Aboard the plane, passengers first learned of the problem 10 to 15 minutes into the flight when Burke announced that the plane had a problem with its landing gear, said Mastoon. The pilot said he was in contact with ground crews at Long Beach Airport, where JetBlue has its regional hub, and in New York to try to determine what the problem was.

At that point, some people on the plane started to cry, but most stayed calm, Mastoon said. The crew tried to calm people by telling jokes.

Prepared for worst

Before the plane landed, passengers were told to put their heads down toward their laps and brace for landing. Passengers were shouting, ``Brace, brace, brace.''

But the landing turned out to be incredibly smooth, Mastoon said.

``Everyone applauded,'' Mastoon said. ``There were tears of joy. Couples were hugging. There were pats on the back.''

The drama also generated strong emotions on the ground. Some people curious about the plane's fate parked along the frontage roads of the LAX runway, hoping to witness the landing.

At the Tom Bradley International Terminal, about 50 people watched the landing transfixed at the Gordon Biersch Brewing Co. restaurant, many of their own flights delayed by the problem. They erupted in applause when the plane landed safely.

Flight 292 lifted off from Bob Hope Airport in Burbank just after 3 p.m., bound for New York's Kennedy International Airport. Within minutes, however, pilots noticed a problem. A landing gear indicator light remained on after takeoff.

Burke then flew south toward Long Beach Airport and contacted the tower for help.

``I heard the pilot asking for emergency equipment,'' said Stew Sawyer, who lives by Long Beach Airport and was monitoring the control tower radio.

``The pilot asked for a flyby so the tower could check his landing gear. He flew by real low, and the tower said, `Your landing gear is 90 degrees the wrong way.' ''

Burke was told to pull back up and to burn off all excess fuel before attempting an emergency landing. Some aircraft are capable of dumping fuel reserves over the ocean, but the Airbus A320 cannot do that. So, for the next few hours, the plane flew back and forth over the coast as the crew contacted JetBlue headquarters and formulated a plan.

At the same time, the severity of the situation began to grow on passengers, some of whom had settled into sleep after takeoff.

To shift as much weight as possible to the rear of the plane -- helping to keep the nose of the plane high during the emergency landing -- crew members asked passengers to move to different seats. Flight attendants instructed passengers on how to brace themselves by bending forward.

-From the San Jose Mercury News.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_CONGRATULATIONS JONATHAN LETHEM

What a fantasy: to wake up one morning out of the blue to a phone call telling you that you've been awarded a $500,000 "Genuis Grant" just because you're you.

The MacArthur Fellows Program does just that. The five-year, unrestricted fellowships are awarded to individuals across all ages and fields who show exceptional merit and promise of continued creative work.

Brooklyn writer Jonathan Lethem, author of "Motherless Brooklyn" and "Fortress of Solitude"  had that kind of morning just a few days ago. He is one of group of talented individuals all over the country who got the news this week.

I've heard that many fellows get the call and think it's a joke, a friend pulling a prank or something. The foundation is so used to this they direct the recipient to a special web site, where they can check on the veracity of the call. The recipients then have to stay mum for a few days, telling only family and close friends, until the public announcement.

It must be hard to keep silent on the news that you've just won enough money to wipe away all your money worries so that you can continue your creative pursuit.

Lethem, who was born and raised in Brooklyn's Boerum Hill neighborhood, is the only creative writer on this year's list. My first reaction was: isn't he already rich and famous? Surely there' are other great writers who could use the monetary support of the foundation. I thought the awards were for genuises of the unsung variety.

But then I realized that an award like this might encourage Lethem to continue writing his brilliantly rendered narratives of Brooklyn characters. Sentence to sentence, he's one of the best writing fiction today. And now he will be free to write what he wants, not what sells.

Besides, Lethem's books, especially "Motherless Brooklyn" and "Fortress of Solitude" are  absolutely teriffic.

At a time when redevelopment and gentrification are hot button issues in New York City, Lethem's work has special resonance. In "Fortress," he writes about growing up in the Boerum Hill section of Brooklyn during the 1970s, a time when the neighborhood was in the process of gentrification and full of race and class tensions. He vividly renders the physical and social worlds his characters inhabit, in the schoolyards, on the stoops of Brooklyn.

As a literary stylist, he is also much lauded for his ability to mix and match genres like comics, noir, and literary fiction "He weaves the conventions of noir mysteries, westerns, science fiction, and comic books into narratives that explore the relationship between high art and popular culture," writes his MacArthur Foundation bio.

This year's list includes many scientists, a fisherman, a violinmaker, a vehicle emmissions specialist, a rare book preservationist, a painter, sculptor, and a conductor. It also includes the photographer, Fazal Sheikh, who uses "the personalizing power of portraiture to bring the faces of the world’s displaced people into focus." Olufunmilayo Olopade, a clinician and researcher translating findings on the molecular genetics of breast cancer in African-American and African women into innovative clinical practices in the United States and abroad. Majora Carter, an Urban Revitalization Strategist transforming the quality of life for South Bronx residents by creating new opportunities for transportation, recreation, nutrition, and economic development and documentary filmmaker, Edet Belzberg.

The award is limited to U.S. citizens and other residents of the United States. One of the nation’s ten largest private philanthropic foundations, MacArthur has awarded more than $3 billion in grants since it began operations in 1978 with assets, as of December 31, 2004, of about $5 billion. The annual grantmaking budget is approximately $180 million.

According to the Foundation, "grantmaking is most effective when focused upon a relatively few areas of work, combined with sufficient resources over a long enough period of time to make a measurable difference."

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

TONIGHT AT BROOKLYN READING WORKS

Tonight, Brooklyn Reading Works is pleased to present novelist Sheila Kohler and poet Matthew Zapruder. Below is an excerpt from Kohler's 1999 novel,  CRACKS. And below that, a poem called Park Slope from AMERICAN LINDEN, Zapruder's debut collection. Tonight's reading is at 8 p.m. at the Old Stone House in JJ Byrne Park on Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets.

From Cracks by Sheila Kohler

Fiamma fainted in chapel this morning. The teachers do not know we make ourselves do it, though they suspect we do. They even had a doctor brought in to examine us, but he said there was nothing wrong with us. He said he had never seen such a healthy group of growing girls. We do look healthy. Our skins are gold with all the sunshine, and our hair and teeth look very white in contrast. Weekdays we wear short-sleeved white blouses and green tunics with their big R's embroidered on our chests and our short green socks. Our tunics are worn four inches from the ground, measured kneeling, so you can see our knobby knees.

Perhaps Fiamma did not make herself faint. Perhaps she just fainted. The girls on the swimming team take turns fainting in chapel. We all know how to do it. Before communion while you are on your knees and have not had any breakfast, you breathe hard a few times, and then you hold your breath and close your eyes. You sweat and start to see diamonds in the dark. You feel yourself rush out of yourself, out and out. Then you come back to the squelch of Miss G's crepe shoes, as she strides along the blue-carpeted aisle to rescue you. She makes you put your head down between your knees, and then she lifts you up and squeezes your arm. Miss G is our swimming teacher, and she is super-strong.

You lean against her as you go down the aisle and feel her breath on your cheek, and the soft swell of her boosie. Your heart flutters, and you see the light streaming in aslant through the narrow, stained-glass windows: red and blue and yellow like a rainbow. Miss G leads you out into the cool of the garden. You sit on the white-washed wall under the loquat tree in your white Sunday dress and undo the mother-of-pearl button at your neck. Miss G sits on the wall beside you and smokes a cigarette, holding it under her hand, so Miss Nieven, our headmistress, who has an M. A. from Oxford, will not notice if she comes upon her suddenly. When Miss G tells you to, you take off your panama hat and set it down on the wall. Then you lean your head against her shoulder. You get to sit there under the cool dark leaves of the loquat tree and feel the breeze lift the hem of your tunic very gently and watch Miss G blow smoke rings until she asks if you feel all right now. Her voice is deep and a little hoarse, like a man's.r:

Park Slope by Matthew Zapruder

Where far into evening
speculation is
without further instruction
a staircase one kneels,
an always continuing upwards.
Where I inspect myself
for a black and white cat
who hides my sluggishness from inspectors.
His name is Joselito.
Where sometimes a word can fill the sails.
Where I grow smaller
like a view of a harbor.
Where hydrants are painted
hyacinths arguing
point with pleasure in every direction!
glitter slowly
through conversation with windows!
Where into the bitter dust of my mouth
I bring my face,
to stare back at tacit approval,
wearing huge red feverish hands
rubbing my beard
like a saint.
Where one logician
with half an eyeglass proposes
o perpetual attitudes of summer!
light grey sky
constitutes interference
and is proof of a wariness high above clouds.
Where his neighbor
pissing on the low wall contends
it was merely stolen
from thousands of silvery windows
by an amnesiac painter
a jump rope and naked laughter.
Where a silent chorus of blinking sirens
asks if so who forgot us
stretching it onto his scaffold?
Where down at the corner
of afternoon and 4th
children have been invented again.
Mischievous mothers
paroled from daytime
bend among the lounging bodegas,
filling their starry
implications of sundresses,
climbing a few rungs
of spanish without me.

Excerpted from CRACKS © Copyright 2003 by Sheila Kohler. Reprinted with permission from Zoland Books. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2002-2003 Matthew Zapruder

 

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Sitar on the Stoop

A 12-year-old boy in my building is taking sitar lessons. Lately, he's been practicing on the stoop. It's quite a sight to see him out there sitting crossed leg like Ravi Shankar; his big, ornate  instrument that has  something like 40 strings. I asked him if he knows how to tune it and he said, "No." But his teacher can do that when necessary.  The first song he learned was "Paint it Black," the Rolling Stones song with that unmistakable sitar lick at the beginning.

Our budding sitarist can also pick out other tunes: Ode to Joy from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony and Amazing Grace, for example. This evening, at dusk, he was playing duets with a girl from the building next door who plays the flute. It was an unexpected mingling of sounds: the sitar and the flute. But it really sounded quite nice.

When I went downstairs, I got a better look at their make-shift concert. He was sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk in front of our building with his instrument collecting money for Hurricane Katrina relief.

Two children next door were sitting on chairs in front of their buildings; a brother/sister guitar and flute duo.

It looked like both musical acts had raised quite a bit of money - there were lots of  dollar bills in their baskets. A street of music: in my 11 years on Third Street I've never seen a concert by children on the street.

I've known the sitar player since he was two. He used to play the violin. I think he even took clarinet lessons, too. A few years back he was really into top-40 radio to his parent's chagrin. He's traveled quite a bit with his parents and grandmother - to China and Europe, even Korea where he spent a summer with other kids from around the world. It's amazing to watch kids grow up and see how they evolve. It really is.

An amazing thing.

This morning I heard the daughter of legendary sitarist Ravi Shankar, Anoushka Shankar, on National Public Radio. She's just released a new album of world music and it sounds really interesting. It's called Rise, and it was composed, produced, and arranged by Anoushka - with a group of virtuoso Eastern and Western musicians on a variety of both acoustic and electronic instruments.

I wanted to mention it to my neighbor, the budding sitarist, but I forgot. I'll have to remember to do that one day.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Exhausted

September is the most exhausting month. The transition from the sluggish pace of summer  to the rah rah rah pace of fall is always draining. And this year it's taking me longer than ever to get into the swing of things. Could be the humid, doggy weather we've been having. Or the intense allergy season that has me popping Claritin like candy and sneezing and itching all the time.

Worst of all, is the new morning schedule we're on. Or should I say, my son is on. But of, course it means the whole family has to follow along, too. In order to arrive at his high school by 8:30 a.m. sharp, my son has to be out the door at 7:30. That means my husband's cell phone alarm goes off at 6 a.m. He's got it set to something called "Chinese Dance" and the sound of it really gets one of us out of bed fast to turn off the loud, annoying sound.

Once the alarm is off, we sometimes drift back to sleep, which can be very dangerous. On Monday, no one woke up until 7:30. Then we go into emergency mode -showerdressglassesbreakfastbookbagout - my husband has to drive my son to his school in Bay Ridge.

My husband usually goes into my son's room, which is right next door to ours, to wake him up. "The weasels are coming," my husband says. That is code for: 'I'm going to start tickling you.'  "The weasels are here. You better wake up," he says. This is a wake up game the two of them have been playing for years. Then the tickling begins and the yelping, the screaming. the "Stop it, dads. Stop it!" I'm not sure if he loves it or hates it. But I think some sort of male bonding is going on.

The tie is another key component of the new morning ritual. My husband has instructed my son not to tie his tie until he's brushed his teeth or had breakfast - it'll get dirty that way. This is how manly information is passed from generation to generation. Just before he leaves the apartment, my son stands in wait while my husband ties his tie.

Soon my son may learn how to tie it himself. But for now, he's learning by watching his father engage in this ancient rite.

He's still wearing that silver tie with the diagonal black stripes he wore the first day of school. Guess it's his signature tie. Do you have to wash ties?  Better ask my husband about that.
Once he's out the door, we take a short break until it's time to wake my daughter up. Her commute is a bit shorter - PS 321 is right around the corner. But she hates to wake up...

September is the most exhausting month.

.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Momagers

Teens for New Orleans, a benefit concert on September 24, at the Old Stone House from 6-9 p.m., is really gathering steam. All proceeds from the event are going to the Jazz Foundation of America, which has set up an emergency fund for New Orleans musicians.

Cool and Unusual and their parents met last night for a major production meeting. A large group, we sat at the dining room table and went over all the production details: equipment, lights, load-in, line-up, food, security, clean up. There was a lot to go over and we managed to do it in a fairly efficient manner. The band is taking this rather ambitious endeavor quite seriously.

The line-up was determined early on: The Foundation Quintet, a jazz group, will open the show. Then Jake Gilford, comedian and M.C. will entertain the crowd followed by Modrocket, a grrrrl band  made up of students from NEST+M high school in Manhattan. Cool and Unusual is third up followed by Capsacicin (three members of StunGun). The show will end with Calibre, a band from Chappaqua, New York.

We also discussed signs, safety, ticket takers, hand stampers, trucking of equipment, and food set up and delivery. As one of the mom's said, "It would have been so much easier to write a check. But this is really a great experience for all of us." 

That particular mom has been dubbed "momager" by her son in appreciation for her help in organizing this event.

If you are an individual or a business and are interested in donating baked goods, beverages, or other food items to the event please e-mail me: louise_crawford@yahoo.com Your help would be much appreciated.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_OF FLYERS AND PLAQUES

Yesterday, I noticed that the flyers about the missing plaque honoring David Fontana are the only flyers on Seventh Avenue that haven't been removed by the 'committee to rid Park Slope of flyers.'

I papered Seventh Avenue last Friday with flyers about the  Brooklyn Reading Works reading this Thursday September 22 -- few of those flyers are still up. My son also put flyers up around the nabe about the Teens for New Orleans Benefit on Saturday, September 24. He says that most of those were taken down, too.

But the blue flyers offering a reward for the return of the plaque, no questions asked, were stilll up. I saw quite a few of them this afternoon. And while I'm annoyed that my flyers are gone, I am relieved that the flyers about Dave's plaque are still there.

On Tuesday, there was a front page article in the New York Daily News about the stolen plaque -- a story that appeared in OTBKB last Thursday and Friday. It was weird to see that familiar picture of Dave on the cover of the News; it's the image on his wake card - a wallet-sized, laminated card Marian Fontana had made for those who attended Dave's wake at The Montauk Club - something I truly treasure.

There it was on the front page of the News with the story of the plaque, which said simply said: "In memory of Firefighter Dave Fontana, 1-0/17/63 - 9/11/01. Beloved husband, father, neighbor, artist, hero."

According to the Daily News, sometime between 1:15 p.m. and 3:15 p.m. on Sept. 12, the plaque disappeared from its spot under the tree.

"I'd like to believe that people aren't that cruel, and that it was just a stupid prank," Marian Fontana told the News. "Why anyone would want to take something like that is beyond my comprehension."

I couldn't agree more. The story has really gathered momentum in the last few days. I received a polite e-mail from a reporter for the City Section of the New York Times. It was a little confusing but nice just the same:

"I'm e-mailing mostly to reverse (and apologize for the disturbance of) an earlier call. I'd been going to do something for the Times's City Section about the missing plaque--but this was before my editors and I realized there was already some press coverage.  (The City Section, being a weekly, tends to steer clear of things covered in the dailies, esp. early in the week).  So my earlier messages, left at the two numbers listed on the flyer, are unfortunately moot.  (Though I would still like to have done a story.)  I wanted to apologize, and to say I really hope you get hold of the plaque.

 
The News reported that Marian visited the plaque on the fourth anniversary of 9/11 just over a week ago. She went to a ceremony with the families at Squad 1 and then went to the meadow in Prospect Park where Dave proposed to her. Afterwards, she went over to Fourth Street to check on their old apartment and see the tree with the plaque.

"Just put it back where it belongs," Marian said.

It really is the strangest thing that someone would steal a memorial plaque. I just can't figure out why anyone would do it. But I agree with Marian: put it back where it belongs.

I hope those blue flyers with their offer of a reward for the safe return of the plaque stay where they are. Enough has been ripped off lately - let those flyers fly. And maybe they'll help to restore the plaque to its rightful place. For Dave and Marian. For her neighbors on Fourth Street. For people of Park Slope.

Put it back where it belongs!

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_ PICNIC HOUSE REOPENS

The one year, $3-million renovation of the Picnic House in Prospect park is done. On Monday, couples who were married there were invited to admire the newly renovated space with its new roof, a new hardwood floor, modernized rest rooms, a fresh coat of paint and ground-floor office space for Prospect Park staff.

Built in 1928, the Picnic House was originally a shelter for park visitors on rainy days. Later, it became a gathering place for elderly men playing poker, Tupper Thomas, Prospect Park's administrator told the Daily News. I found out even more about its history at the Prospect Park website.

The Picnic House represents a favorite picnicking spot for generations of New Yorkers seeking the great outdoors. In 1868, the Park's opening year, 75 parties of over 100 received permits to host gatherings along the Long Meadow, and that was before the Park's construction was even completed. The rapidly growing influx of picnickers earned the Park a national reputation as a prime outdoor attraction, and this inspired the 1876 construction of the original Picnic Shelter. Made of wood and brick, the rustic structure provided shelter from abrupt summer storms, first-aid assistance, restrooms and a refreshment concession. The current Picnic House, designed by Jay Sarsfield Kennedy, took its place in 1928, after a fire destroyed the original shelter.Another obsolete Park feature also made its home near the Picnic House. A wooden, octagonal carousel operated by a team of real horses catered to turn-of-the-century picnickers. After spinning creekily for 30 years, a newer version replaced the old carousel, only to burn down in 1933. In 1952, the Park's current Carousel, located on the park's eastern edge, was brought from Coney Island.

After an earlier renovation in the 1980's, the picnic became a popular spot for weddings, school auctions, parties, recitals and other festive events.

"We've had christenings, bar and bat mitzvahs, Sweet 16 parties, anniversary parties and fund-raisers," Thoma said. About 100 weddings are held in the space each year.

Couples are invited to bring their wedding pictures to the exhibit: "Picture Perfect at the Prospect Park Picnic House." Long Meadow, Prospect Park. Enter park at 95 Prospect Park West at Fifth Street. (718) 965-8999.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

CURBED SAYS: CONEY ISLAND GOING VEGAS, BABY

From Curbed.com

Behold! The new and improved Coney Island of the future, maybe. As we've said before, shopping mall developer Thor Equities has been buying up land along the Boardwalk like it's going out of style (which it did, about 30 years ago), to much speculation as to what they're up to and how it will fit in with the city's own redevelopment plans. New York magazine went to the source—Thor boss Joe Sitt—for the answer, and woo boy is it a doozy:

He plans to build a glittering resort paradise right next to the Coney Island boardwalk—a retail and entertainment colossus every bit as outrageous and flamboyant as the Bahamas’ Atlantis. The plan includes megaplexes. An indoor water park. A 500-room, four-star hotel—four stars, in Coney Island!—and, at the center of it all, an enormous, psychedelic carousel laced with visual cues to a Coney Island that Timothy Leary could have dreamed up. Equally spectacular, Sitt hopes, will be a blimp that will take off from the complex’s roof, carrying tourists on joyrides over the city as it flashes the resort’s name in giant technicolor letters: THE BOARDWALK AT CONEY ISLAND. “The dirigible will leave every ten minutes,” Sitt says, jabbing his finger excitedly toward the sky. “On an ongoing basis. Another. Another. Another. Lifting off and taking people on a tour, spreading the message that this is the place to be.”

Because who doesn't take their social cues from a terrifying fleet of giant blimps hovering above the city? But it all makes sense, doesn't it? They steal from us, we steal from them, and the Earth—improbably—keeps rotating on its axis.
· The Incredibly Bold, Audaciously Cheesy, Jaw-Droppingly Vegasified, Billion-Dollar Glam-Rock Makeover of Coney Island [NY Mag]
· Coney Island Prepares for Its Face Lift [Curbed]

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_A WORD OF CAUTION

At my 14-year-old son's last check-up, his pediatrician, Dr. Edna Pytlak, delievered one of the best anti-drug and alcohol speeches I've ever heard.

It was the casualness of her delivery that was so disarming and my son really listened. "Be careful of teen parties in Park Slope," she said moments after asking him to jump up and down 30 times. "Kids are consuming toxic levels of alcohol," she added as she went about his 14-year check-up. "Some of my patients wound up in the hospital last year after drinking much too much. They nearly died."

She talked about the tragic drug overdose of a boy who'd just graduated from Brooklyn Friends in June and the kids who got alcohol poisoning in the PS 321 playground last Spring. She talked, my son listened. She has an easy authority and my son's well-earned trust.

Dr. Pytlak appears, on first meeting, to be a cross between Mary Poppins and Miss Frizzle from the Magic School Bus books. But she is really so much more: a whip-smart physician, a great diagnostician, a common sense healer, and an always reliable partner in the event of an emergency.

"With all this IM-ing, kids who weren't invited to the parties are showing up," Dr. Pytlak, the mother of two grown children, continued knowingly. "At one party, some kids came with heroin (that's a felony, you know). Heroin is very, very dangerous. It's very easy to overdose."

I think it was her matter-of-fact, non-judgemental manner that really got the message across. You could say that she used scare tactics but it wasn't an outdated "Reefer Madness" message which is so easy for kids to discount. She speaks from experience using specific examples from the community we live in. She's got the facts and she's not afraid to use them. It doesn't sound like platitudes or "Just Say No." She seems to understand where the kids are coming from. Like she's one of the kids herself. But with authority and experience.

With her pretty floral aprons and her sing-songy voice, Dr. Pytlak is beloved by legions of Brooklyn children and parents. When we joined her practice in 1991, she was already a legend in these parts and it was close to impossible to get in. But Dr. Pytlak had just partnered with another great doctor (Brianne O'Connor) and she had room for families with newborns. I guess we got lucky and she has seen us through a host of medical emergencies.

Dr. Pytlak works hard to establish an easy relationship with her young patients and check- ups are fun; the kids actually look forward to them. On the walls of her office are the framed collages she makes of all the holiday photos she receives each year. The kids trust her and really listen to what she has to say. "Your mother and I, we might have had beer, maybe pot at parties," she said while looking in my son's ears. "But we weren't drinking alcohol the way these kids are. It's really quite different."

Dr. Pytlak is a great partner to have during this scary teenage phase.  Somehow she makes it all feel so much less frightening. With her help, maybe we'll all make it through.

STOLEN PLAQUE STORY IN THE DAILY NEWS

The New York Daily News has this story, first reported in OTBKB last week, about the plaque in honor of David Fontana that was stolen; the headline reads: COWARDS INSULT A HERO!

Twisted pranksters ripped off a memorial plaque for fallen 9/11 Firefighter Dave Fontana from outside his old Brooklyn home - on the day after the fourth anniversary of his death.

"They took Daddy's plaque?" a heartbroken Aidan Fontana, 9, asked his mother, Marian, at their new home in Staten Island. "Why?"

The 9-inch-by-12-inch bronze plaque - dedicated Dec. 22, 2002, to the Squad 1 hero - had lain alongside the base of a tree in front of his former Park Slope brownstone.

The simple message read, "In memory of Firefighter Dave Fontana, 1-0/17/63 - 9/11/01. Beloved husband, father, neighbor, artist, hero."

Its only anchor was a foot-long metal spike, as no one imagined it would be a target for thieves in the generally crime-free neighborhood, which is also home to Fontana's firehouse.

But sometime between 1:15 p.m. and 3:15 p.m. on Sept. 12, the well-tended memorial disappeared.

"I'd like to believe that people aren't that cruel, and that it was just a stupid prank," said Marian Fontana, who got the troubling news while speaking about her new book, "A Widow's Walk," at the New York Academy of Sciences.

"Why anyone would want to take something like that is beyond my comprehension," she said yesterday.

Fontana added that she had just visited the plaque on the solemn anniversary of the terror attacks.

After attending Mass with other widows and firefighters at her late husband's firehouse, Fontana went to the spot where he proposed to her in Prospect Park and to their former home to pause at the plaque.

Fontana said she was disturbed by the theft - and urged whoever stole the plaque to "just put it back where it belongs."

Dave Fontana was an avid sculptor who originally signed up for the Fire Department to make time for his art.

He had even worked a 24-hour shift into the morning of Sept. 11, 2001, sohe could meet Marian for aprivate viewing of the Whitney Museum's sculpture garden on their eighth wedding anniversary.

The friends who designed and created the plaque - former neighbor Sarah Greene and former landlords Sally and Kevin O'Connell - have plastered the area with flyers offering a $100 reward for its safe return.

But if necessary, they are already prepared to buy another one at a cost of nearly $1,000.

"It just makes us feel that all the goodwill that we all felt after 9/11 gets tossed out in a bucket," Greene said of the theft. "We're just incredulous that anyone could be so selfish or so uncaring."

 

With Rivka Bukowsky

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_Teenage Vibe

The teen scene on Seventh Avenue has a different vibe, a different cast of characters, this fall. Last year's high school freshmen (now sophmores) are still hanging out in front of the PS 321 playground but they no longer seem to be crowding outside the Mojo patio. They seem a little less hyper, a little less out to prove that they're cool. I think they've  settled into their teenage selves and are a little more calm.

<>

This year's freshmen are just beginning to flex their high school muscles. Many have claimed the Mojo patio as a hang-out for themselves. I've noticed some of them next to Rite Aid, others on the north/east corner of Third Street, and on the corner of 2nd Street. I also know that Longs Meadow in Prospect Park has become something of a meeting place. (I used to hang out in Central Park when I was in high school but somehow this is a little bit scarier. Everything is when it's your kid and not you.)

Dispersed to public and private high schools all over the city, this year's freshman are reconnecting with their old friends in locations all over the Slope. There's so much to adjust to the first few weeks of high school. So there must be comfort in being with the old familiar. But it's the good-old-days with a difference. Some of them have a bit more independence - they've got Metrocards, money, more mobility - and they're pushing the envelope whenever they can.

So far,  I am not sensing a hyperness in them like last year's teens but they are re-inventing themselves and actively declaring new identities.

There's something about the other Slope kids that brings comfort and confidence. Maybe it reminds them of when they were the oldest kids at their old schools, when they ruled the roost of their little universe. They come back together as if to say, "I know I'm moving on, but I'm not ready to let go of what's here. Not yet anyway."

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_FLYERS

Yesterday, I walked up and down Seventh Avenue from 3rd to 9th Streets taping BROOKLYN READING WORKS flyers onto lamp posts, mailboxes and bulletin boards. And now I am just crossing my fingers that no one has torn them down. Yet.

My husband said that Magic Tape isn't the right kind of tape to use. "Just look at the other flyers on the Avenue." I did and I saw that most people use a very thick and sticky kind of tape. I guess I have a lot to learn about papering the Avenue.

But I'll hope for the best. Even if the flyers only stay up for a few hours, a lot of people will see them. A woman who saw me taping a flyer up asked for one of the flyers to give to a friend who is a writer. Just walking down the street with a flyer can be an effective form of advertising. Maybe I should wear a sandwich board or something.

I know it's probably just a matter of hours before someone tapes over my flyers or tears them down. My husband thinks I should ask shopkeepers to put the flyer in their windows. I did go into stores that have community bulletin boards and put my flyers there. I put one in Seventh Avenue Books, Barnes and Noble, the Chocolate Bar, Starbucks and other shops. I also gave one to Catherine at Community Books and hopefully she'll put it in her window.

It'll be interesting to see how many people turn up for the show. Needless to say, I am hoping for a big turnout on Thursday for the first BROOKLYN READING WORKS of the year with novelist Sheila Kohler and poet Matthew Zapruder. It should be a wonderful evening.

Sheila Kohler has published five novels, including Crossways, and three collections of short stories. Her novel Cracks was chosen by New York Newsday and Library Journal as one of the best books of 1999. A native of South Africa, she makes her home in New York City and teaches at Bennington College.

Poet Matthew Zapruder is the author of American Linden, winner of the Tupelo Press Editors' Prize. His poems have appeared in many literary magazines and journals, including The Boston Review, Fence, Crowd, Jubilat, Both, Harvard Review, The New Republic and The New Yorker.

I know there are people in Park Slope who think that the lamp posts of Park Slope should be flyerless. They actually tear flyers off of lamp posts.

I saw one of these "activists" once. He had an angry look in his eyes as he ripped flyers off of of lamp posts and threw the offending flyers into trash bins. I didn't speak with him, but I've heard that these anti-flyer people think that flyers make the Avenue look messy; that they take away from the landmark quality of the neighborhood.

It can be quite frustrating when you've papered the Avenue with, say, stoop sale posters and hours later your flyers are gone.

Personally, I think lamp posts full of flyers communicate a vital community with an abundance of activities. I certainly don't think it diminishes the historic style of the neighborhood. One of the fun things about living around here is reading the various flyers that people put up. Stoop sales, writing groups, babysitters, readings, political gatherings, etc. It's all part of life in the Slope.

Today my son and his friends will be papering the neighborhood with TEENS FOR NEW ORLEANS flyers with information about their benefit concert next Saturday, September 24 from 6-9 p.m. at the Old Stone House. All proceeds from the concert goes to the Jazz Foundation of America, which is helping musicians in New Orleans.

BROOKLYN READING WORKS and TEENS FOR NEW ORLEANS are both at The Old Stone House in JJ Byrne Park on Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

PLAQUE HONORING DAVE FONTANA STILL MISSING

Residents of Fourth Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues in Park Slope still can't figure out why a memorial plaque in honor of Lt. David Fontana, one of eleven firefighters from Squad 1 who died on 9/11 at the World Trade Center, was stolen.

In 2002, the plaque was placed on a tree in front of the Fourth Street brownstone where David, Marian, and Aidan Fontana used to live. There was a small dedication ceremony around Christmas of that year. "We invited Squad 1 over for a little dedication. Some kids from my son's chorus at MS 51 stood on the stoop and sang a couple of song," writes Sarah Greene in an e-mail to OTBKB. "My husband, Bill, talked about how we planted that tree a few years before, and when he watered it some mornings, Dave would come out and they'd chat. So we thought of it as 'Dave's tree'."

This weekend there are plans to hang flyers all over the Slope. A reward of $100 is being offered for the plaque's return.

The plaque, which reads, "In Memory of Firefighter Dave Fontana - Beloved Husband, Father, Neighbor, Artist, Hero," was discovered missing on the afternoon of Wednesday, September 13th. "It was there in the morning because my husband watered the tree around 10 a.m," writes Greene.  "But Liz O'Connell noticed it was missing in the afternoon."

Anther Fourth Street resident wrote e-mails to MS 51, as well as to Larry Woodbridge, the administrator for the John Jay building. "I spoke with the evening custodian at John Jay, someone from the Grecian Coffee Shop, and mentioned it at the Bagel Shop this morning. I also spoke with someone from the management company across the street from the tree --she said they will certainly keep their eyes and ears open and said they would be glad to make a donation for a replacement," she wrote in an e-mail to Ms. Greene. "The mood on the block is sad."

No one can quite figure out why someone would steal the plaque in honorlocal Park Slope hero. Perhaps someone wanted a 9/11 souvenir. The theft could possibly be connected to the publicity surrounding the recent publication of Marian Fontana's book" A WIDOW'S WALK: A MEMOIR OF 9/11. Or it might have been a school prank - there are two schools within blocks of the plaque.

If you have any information about the missing plaque, contact: Sarah Greene at
sarahgreene@nyc.rr.com or louise_crawford@yahoo.com

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_SICK CHILD IN THE HOUSE

"Why do hurricanes always have girl names?" My daughter asks while watching the President on TV.

I try to explain that they alternate names - boy, girl, boy, girl. But it does seem like some of the worst have been women's names: Camille, Betsy, Gloria, and now Katrina.

Today my daughter came home with a raging fever. At dismissal, she said she had a headache and promptly took a nap when we got home (a very unusual thing, I might add). She woke up feeling like a furnace and the electronic ear thermometer revealed that her temperature was 102.8.

Immediately, we launched into "sick child mode."  I gave her 2 teaspoons of Motrin, heated up Progresso Chicken Noodle Soup, and served it to her on a tray in bed.

After a little while, her fever went down and I let her lie on the living room couch and watch a show called The O.C, which I think is a very popular show on Fox. It's a pretty awful Southern California soap opera, but it's also kind of fun in its awfulness.

That's over now and she seems to be getting her energy back. She keeps asking if she's going to school tomorrow and I keep telling her that she will be staying home and that she might even be going to see her doctor if her symptoms persist.

Reassured, she goes back to watching a Simpsons Video on DVD (she got bored of W and turned him off). I go into the kitchen to listen to the President speak from New Orleans. Seventeen days after Katrina, he's trying to win back the nation after the debacle of Katrina and convince people that he's firmly in charge. While not exactly contrite, he did say that "four years after 9/11, Americans do have the right to expect more."

I know that the Motrin is responsible for lowering my daughters fever so I expect her high temperature to return later this evening. Like most moms, I have a good deal of experience with high temperatures and other childhood sickness. I am not looking forward to seeing her all droopy and hot. But it comes with the territory. Of being a mother, that is. We take care of our own in the best of times and the worst. That's all part of the job.

BOOKS ABOUT BROOKLYN

I came across this list of books, mostly fiction with some non-fiction and poetry sprinkled in, that was compiled by the Brooklyn Public Library on the web. It's hardly comprehensive but there's some great stuff here. Please add your own and send them to me.

Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon
Farming of Bones, Edwidge Danticat
Snow in August: a novel , Pete Hamill
Disappearing Acts, Terry McMillan
My Name is Asher Lev, Chaim Potok
Push: a novel, Sapphire
John Henry Days: a novel, Colson Whitehead
Complete Poems of Marianne Moore
Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman
Fires in the Mirror, Anna Deavere Smith
When Brooklyn Was the World, Elliott Willensky

Young Adults:
Life Is Funny, E.R. Frank
Annie on the Mind, Nancy Garden
Spellbound, Janet McDonald
Fresh Girl, Jaira Placide
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith
When I Was Puerto Rican, Esmeralda Santiago

Juvenile:
Big Jimmy’s Kum Kau Chinese Take Out, Ted Lewin
Black Cat, Christopher A. Myers
Max Found Two Sticks, Brian J. Pinkney
Where the Wild Things Are, Maurice Sendak
Didi and the Daddy on the Promenade, Marilyn Singer
Subway Sparrow, Leyla Torres
Brooklyn Doesn’t Rhyme, Joan W. Blos
Marisol and Magdalena: The Sound of Our Sisterhood, Veronica Chambers
In the Year of the Boar and Jackie Robinson, Bette Bao Lord
Last Summer With Maizon, Jacqueline Woodson

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

PARK SLOPE TEEN BANDS TO PLAY BENEFIT FOR KATRINA

My son's band, COOL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT, has decided to do something very cool and unusual. They are organizing a benefit concert to raise money for the Jazz Foundation of America, a group that is providing aid to th musicians of New Orleans.

The concert will be on SEPTEMBER 24, from 6-9 pm at THE OLD STONE HOUSE in Park Slope. Admission is $10 for adults and $5 for anyone under 18 and seniors.  There will be refreshments, t-shirts, and plenty of other opportunities at the show to contribute money.

The concert line-up is still being developed but it looks like COOL AND UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT will be joined by Mod Rocket and the Foundation Quintet. Comedian Jacb Guilford will be he MC. More details as soon as I know them.

Mark your calendars and tell everyone you know about the show. The benefit concert is in The Old Stone House in JJ Byrne Park. Fifth Avenue between 3rd and 4th Streets.

For directions to The Old  Stone House go here. All other inquiries can be directed to me at louise_crawford@yahoo.com until further notice.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_MEMORIAL PLAQUE MISSING

A memorial plaque in honor of Lt. David Fontana, one of the firefighters from Squad 1 in Park Slope who died on 9/11 at the World Trade Center, has been stolen. 

It was placed there in 2002 by friends and neighbors on the tree in front of the Fourth Street brownstone where David, Marian, and Aidan Fontana used to live. There was a small dedication ceremony around Christmas of that year. "We invited Squad 1 over for a little dedication. Some kids from my son's chorus at MS51 stood on the stoop and sang a couple of song. songs," writes Sarah Greene in an e-mail to OTBKB. "My husband, Bill,  talked about how we planted that tree a few years before, and when he watered it some mornings, Dave would come out and they'd chat. So we thought of it as 'Dave's tree'."

The plaque, which reads, "In Memory of Firefighter Dave Fontana - Beloved Husband, Father, Neighbor, Artist, Hero," was discovered missing on the afternoon of Wednesday, September 13th. "It was there in the morning because my husband watered the tree around 10 a.m," writes Greene.  "But Liz O'Connell noticed it was missing in the afternoon."

The missing plaque has been reported to the police. "But somehow I doubt they will put a detective on the case," writes Sarah. She and her neighbors are putting up signs this weekend offering a $100 reward for its return. The value was placed at $800.00 but Greene thinks that it will cost close to $1000. to replace it.

No one can quite figure out why someone would steal the plaque which honors a local Park Slope hero. Perhaps someone wanted a 9/11 souvenir. The theft could be connected to the publicity surrounding the publication of Marian Fontana's just-published memoir: "A Widow's Walk: A Memoir of 9/11." Or it might have been a school prank - there are two schools near the location of the plaque. The principals of both schools were notified of the missing plaque.

If you have any information about the missing plaque, contact: Sarah Greene at
sarahgreene@nyc.rr.com or louise_crawford@yahoo.com

NEIGHBORS HONOR THE MEMORY OF FIREMAN DAVE

This piece was published in the Bergen Record yesterday. Coincidentally, the same day that the plaque was stolen from the tree on Fourth Street.

By William Tucker

WE LIVE on a very close-knit block in Brooklyn, the kind of which they say "We've got one of everything." There are old people, young people, black people, white people, Christians, Jews, atheists, crazy people, sane people, prosecutors, defense attorneys, and people who've spent some of their time in jail.

We stick together, though, and every fall there's a block party. In December we have a Christmas/Hanukkah gathering, usually at our house.

About eight years ago a young couple showed up at the party and caused quite a stir. They had just moved in as tenants two doors down. Both had big families in the suburbs and seemed to bring their own entourage. As word got around, the new couple seemed to embody all the wild improbabilities of Park Slope. He was a fireman and a sculptor! She was a writer and a stand-up comedian!

Young and talented, almost penniless, they were making a go of it in the city with little more than their enthusiasm, talent and ambitions. She had a droll personality with caustic candor that made people laugh.

Onstage this transformed into a one-woman act with a bassoon and a side-splitting routine with her sister as two girls discussing the ins and outs of beauty school.

He was unbearably handsome (as she liked to say), a rugby player, and a rising star in the fire department. At the Fourth Avenue station he had noticed a picture on the wall and found it was of two members of the company who had died in World War II. They had never been honored. He tracked down the families, some as far away as Texas, and brought them back for a memorial services, for which they were tearfully grateful.

He took every type of special training and was obviously headed for big things. One of his sculptures adorned the firehouse. They had one child and were thinking about another. He moved up to Squad 1, an elite rescue unit on Union Street, and was the only member who still lived in the neighborhood. Every October he brought the fire truck around to our block party. Their son was rapidly becoming the most envied kid on the block.

Then came Sept. 11. Dave was 10 minutes from the end of his shift when the first plane struck. He had just called to tell Marian to meet him at Connecticut Muffin, on Seventh Avenue. It was their eighth wedding anniversary. They were headed for the Whitney to see some sculpture and celebrate. About 6 that evening, when there was talk of 20,000 dead and everything was still in chaos, I met Dave's landlord at the grocery store. It hadn't even occurred to me that Dave was involved, but my neighbor said he was missing downtown.

Maybe he just hasn't been able to call, I said.

"No, I've got a bad feeling about it," he said.

My wife was at Marian's apartment around midnight when two firemen came to the door. Dave and 10 other members from Squad 1 had been shepherding people out of the second tower when it collapsed. Rescue workers were searching for survivors but they didn't have much hope.

"He was a hero," my wife offered. "He was in there helping other people."

"I don't give a s--t about those other people," Marian said. "I just want my husband back." They didn't find Dave's body until December.

Marian eventually attracted a lot of press attention. Transparent, strong and funny, even in her grief, she was always good for a quote. One New York Times reporter virtually fell in love with her and wrote story after story. She founded the Widows and Victims Family Association, met Rudy Giuliani and President Bush, and wrote for The New Yorker about attending the State of the Union address with Hillary Clinton.

This year she has published her memoir, "A Widow's Walk," released Sunday by Simon & Schuster. She's featured in Vanity Fair and was on the front page of Sunday's New York Post. She's moved back to Staten Island and seems much happier than she was four years ago - although you know she'd trade it all for five minutes with Dave.

Two years ago, at our holiday party, we placed a plaque beside a young tree that's struggling to survive on the sidewalk between our houses.

It reads "In Memory of Firefighter Dave Fontana - Beloved Husband, Father, Neighbor, Artist, Hero."

On Sunday several people placed flowers on the little iron fence that guards the young sapling's life. Fourth Street hasn't forgotten.

William Tucker is an associate at the American Enterprise Institute. His column appears Tuesdays. Contact him at billtucker@nyc.rr.com. Send comments about this column to opedpage@gmail.com.

Copyright © 2005 North Jersey Media Group Inc.
Copyright Infringement Notice  User Agreement & Privacy Policy

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_DON'T MISS THIS

Remember, you heard it here first. So here's the deal. A new film called THE SQUID AND THE WHALE, described by New York Magazine as the Park Slopiest of movies, opens in October. But there's a sneak preview of it at the BAM ROSE CINEMA on September 29th.

The film, which I haven't seen yet, has been described as a moving autobiographical account of growing up in 1986 Park Slope. It stars Jeff Daniels as a writer in what's been described as a career defining role. His marriage to Laura Linney dissolves, disrupting the lives of their two sons. Apparently the film is full of authentic Brooklyn details and locations. I remember seing film trucks with this movie's wierd name on it and thinking: WTF?

This Sundance Award–winner may be right up there with "Smoke," "Blue in the Face," and "The Royal Tannenbaums" as a bona-fide Brooklyn classic!

THE TIMES ON FIFTH AVENUE

As One Strip Goes Stodgy, Another One Goes Hip
by Lisa Selin Davis

Thirty years ago, as the arrival of affluent professionals in search of good schools, gorgeous brownstones and a sense of community began transforming working-class Park Slope, the businesses sprouting along Seventh Avenue seemed a perfect reflection of the tastes and passions of the new residents.

Fifth Avenue is growing as edgy as Seventh once was.

"My experience with retail and Park Slope in the 1970's was that a person owned a shop because they were selling something they loved," said Fonda Sara, who opened Zuzu's Petals, a flower shop and nursery, on Seventh Avenue near Berkeley Place in 1971.

In 1974, Ms. Sara moved across the street from her original location, but after a fire last summer wiped out her home of 30 years, she could not find an affordable storefront on Seventh Avenue. In November, she moved to Fifth Avenue near Fifth Street, joining small shops like Under the Pig Antiques and Galaxy Comics in making the leap from Seventh Avenue to Fifth.

As chain stores continue to replace small businesses along Seventh Avenue, its hip, younger sibling, Fifth Avenue, is becoming what its older brother once was: a home for entrepreneurial adventurers, many of whom, forced out by rising rents, have set up shop two blocks west and a world away.

According to Kenneth Adams, president of the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce, rents on Fifth Avenue are roughly $30 to $40 per square foot, half the rate along Seventh Avenue, which, with Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights, commands the highest commercial rents in the borough. As a result, few retailers can afford a Seventh Avenue address.

"You're not going to get more indigenous, unique neighborhood retail when asking rents are in the $100-per-square-foot range," Mr. Adams said. "That's going to lock out most neighborhood enterprises, and lock in regional chains like banks and real estate offices."

Of course, some old-school Park Slope businesses endure along Seventh Avenue, among them Tarzian hardware, an 80-year resident whose proprietors own their building. And southern Seventh Avenue, below Ninth Street, is home to small, hip businesses like the boutique Bird that would feel just as at home in Williamsburg.

Chain stores began arriving on Seventh Avenue in 1997, when Rite Aid and Barnes & Noble established beachheads, and continued with the arrival of cellphone shops and chain restaurants like Subway, which could pay many times the rent that a small business could. (Small businesses like botanicas and bodegas, which have survived for years on Fifth Avenue, may fall to a similar fate, as chains like Dunkin' Donuts make their way along the street, and rents there begin to rise.)

Some shoppers have adjusted their ways accordingly. "I never go to Seventh Avenue," said Lisa Bowstead, who with Bob Ipcar runs the Web site smalltownbrooklyn.com, which tracks businesses along the borough's main streets. "There's just nothing there for me." Ms. Sara added: "Part of the culture of Park Slope was Seventh Avenue. Going downtown to a small store, kibitzing with the owner - you were connected to them."

Meanwhile, Fifth Avenue is welcoming Seventh Avenue refugees, people like Troy Files, owner of Under the Pig, who moved last summer to a 300-square-foot storefront near Fifth Street that is half the size of his former location. Though he acknowledges that Fifth Avenue has much less foot traffic, he says he is glad he made the move. "Fifth Avenue still has a little bit of edginess, a little bit more of a fun crowd," he explained. And he understands why his former landlord raised his rent. "If you could get $2,000 to rent to a mom-and-pop or $4,000 for a chain store," he said, "what would you choose?"

Still, business continues to boom along Seventh Avenue. "You can grouch about how the old neighborhood has changed," Mr. Ipcar said. "But basically the community is still very much alive."

Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company

Lisa Selin Davis will be reading at Brooklyn Reading Works at The Old Stone House on Thursday, December 15, 2005 at 8 p.m. For more information go here.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_THE HONEYMOON IS OVER

It was just a matter of time. The other shoe has dropped and it doesn't feel very good: the reality of Sonya is settling in and my daughter is having some difficulty adjusting to this sea change in her life.

My daughter has spent much of the past year looking forward to Sonya's arrival. Even before my sister got the referral from the orphanage in Perm, Russia, my daughter has been looking forward to her new cousin.

Once we got the photos, though, my daughter really attached to her. Big time. She lovingly named her Ducky because the receiving blanket she was photographed in had little ducks pictured on it.

After my sister's first trip to Russia, we had pictures of Sonya in the orphanage and that's when the longing for Sonya began. From May through the end of August, my daughter  couldn't pass a clothing or toy shop without wanting to buy something for Sonya.

When my sister, her husband and Sonya returned to Brooklyn from Russia on August 28thit was almost unbearable to remain on vacation in California until August 30th so desperate were we all to meet Sonya. Particularly my daughter, who was chanting: "I want to see Ducky. I want to see Ducky." the whole time.

And it was love at first sight. From the moment they laid eyes on one another, Sonya and my daughter really hit it off. That very first night they met, my daughter was in Sonya's crib, snuggling up with her and kissing her big cheeks. My daughter delighted in feeding her, pushing her in her stroller, giving Sonya her sippy-cup. They've already spent countless hours in the Third Street Playground and on the streets of Seventh Avenue.

I asked my  sister yesterday, "So how do you like having two kids?"

Well, the other shoe has dropped: My daughter has discovered the flip side of a new baby in the family. It sucks the attention right out of a room. "Oh she's so cute!" "She's adorable!" "She looks like she's been here forever." "Look at those cheeks."

You get the idea.

But the worst part is this: my daughter feels like she's been replaced. Her beloved aunt now has her own child and for my daughter it feels like hell. Granted, my sister probably spoiled the be-jesus out of my daughter. And she continues to shower her with attention and compliments on her being such a great cousin. But for a sensitive young 8-year old, it feels like she's out and the new kid is in.

It hit hard today. The baby scratched my daughter's eyelid by accident. Very, very lightly. Apparently nobody noticed. "And you were staring right at me," my daughter cried. But we sure did notice when my daughter punched Sonya's little foot. "What are you doing?" my sister shouted with barely concealed anger.

My daughter walked away in a huff and it took hours for her to calm down.  "Nobody cared that the baby scratched me. Nobody cares about me anymore!" She's very angry right now and full of pain. She told my sister, "I had to blow my nose twelve times because I was crying so much."

I remember when my daughter was born in 1997. On the third or fourth day of her life, my son, who was then five and a half, called me on the phone (from another room in the apartment) and shouted "I hate you!" and hung up. He called again a moment later: "I love you!" slam. These alternating cries of love and hate  continued for about twenty calls. It was hugely painful but also deeply understandable.

It's an earth shattering event when a new baby comes into a family and it brings about a complete realignment of relationships. I know my daughter will adjust to her new cousin and adjust to the fact that she's not the youngest person in the family anymore. She will eventually learn that there's more than enough love to go around.

More than enough. But for now, her pain is real. And we can all relate to that jealousy and that hurt; that sense that we've been pushed away in favor of someone new. It may not be rational but boy is it real.

POSTCARD FROM THE SLOPE_FALL PREVIEW

For fun, I went through New York Magazine's FALL PREVIEW issue and circled everything Brooklyn in it.

On a first, quick read, it seemed that the borough (let alone any borough other than Manhattan) didn't come up very much.  So I thought, hey, let's see how many times the County of Kings is mentioned.

Out of well over 100 listings throughout the magazine including an Event-a-Day calendar, movie, theater, music, art, and restaurant sections, Brooklyn (groovy, hipper-than-hip Brooklyn),  come up exactly thirteen times. And that includes two mentions of THE SQUID AND THE WHALE. So let's call it twelve.

Well, that pissed me off a little, though it is NEW YORK'S perogative to write about all the Manhattan events that they want to. But I spent my $3.99 hoping to hear about the fall in Brooklyn, too. Silly me. It's called New York Magazine.  And everyone knows New York means Manhattan.

So here are the big thirteen and in order:

1. On October 2: Across the Narrows Concert on Staten and Coney Islands with Oasis, Jet, and the Doves as headliners.

2. On October 5: THE SQUID AND THE WHALE with Jeff Daniels opens, described by New York as the Park Slopiest movie of the year.

3. On October 11: The BAM Next Wave Festival mounts a ballet version of RAISE THE RED LANTERN.

4. October 15: Art Under the Bridge Festival in Dumbo

Okay, that's it - IT - for the Day-by-Day Event calendar (for September through November).

5. Opening September 16: EVERYTHING IS ILLUMINATED opens. The film, based on the book, by Park Sloper Jonathan Safran Foer, stars Elijah Wood and was directed by Liev Schreiber.

6. STAY, Marc Foster's drama in which a Brooklyn Bridge car crash bonds Naomi Watts, Ewan McGregor, and Ryan Gosling opens in October,.

7. THE SQUID AND THE WHALE with Jeff Daniels as a bad novelist and even worse father is mentioned twice in the movie section.

8. PROTOCOLS OF ZION, a documentary aout the resurgance of anti-semitism was directed by Brooklyn native, Marc Levin. Opens October 21 - not sure where.

9. In the book section, only Myla Goldberg's new WICKETT'S REMEDY (Doubleday) made the list.  In that article, the Brooklyn band the Decemberists is mentioned for recording a song called "Song for Myla Goldberg."

10. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, a Brooklyn band turned overnight sensation plays at the Bowery Bar on September,  9th.

11. Williamsburg's Stellastarr comes out with a new album called HARMONIES FOR THE HAUNTED.

12. Another Brooklyn band, The Mendoza Line releases their new disc: FULL OF LIGHT AND FULL OF FIRE.

13. And in the restauarant section, there was exactly 1 mention of a Brooklyn restaurant and it's called: Anthony's at 462A Seventh Avenue in Park Slope. According to New York Magazine: "The Nick's Pizza crew and a bona fide Neapolitan pizzaiolo plant a thin crust flag in the South Slope. C'est Tout!

There's gotta be more going on in Brooklyn than this.  Stay tuned for OTBKB's Fall PREVIEW.

NO WORDS_DAILY PIX BY HUGH CRAWFORD