Views of a born and bred Brooklynite. (umbrooklynborn@gmail.com) This blog satisfies my need to hear and air feelings of B'klyn from the people whose life experience were born here. Hopefully it'll balance to some of the revisionist historical musings I've seen as if Bklyn barely existed before the 90's. Brooklyn as Tabula Rasa. If we can all live as best possible while appreciating the past and neighbors we've inherited that would be great too.
I have houseplants. And as they are want to do they decided, in exchange for my absence (my trip to the inauguration) they'd reflect the consistance of existance without me by withering and dying. In fairness the Jade plants didn't do this but they're Buddhists and for all I know they may have died and returned several times over whilst I was away.
Anyway this blog is no Jaded plant. In fact just as I walked in the door, I looked at my plants and didn't recognize them (especially the ones without leaves). In the same way I looked upon my blog today on this Photo Wednesday and didn't recognize anything including that last post I left. I think I wrote it while typing without gloves into the iPhone wrapped in heating pad and still freezing on Pennsylvania Ave.
The photo wedensday shot above is one of the few things I took a picture of that I haven't seen a thousand versions of by other photogs: The Obama Kite!
Seriously. For the most of the day and all through tonight (currently 11:46pm) I've been hearing what sounds like a piledriver sending "I" beams into the area of Atlantic Av and Vanderbilt. I'm blocks away and the echos of pounding haven't let up. Now I like to party as much as the next handsome young lad, but listening to "Clyde's Car Crusher" all through the night is not going help me knock out this flu. Plus it's late for this type of work, no? Anybody have a clue?
I'm shaking up this Photo Wednesday a little bit to talk about the iconic urban boutique Harriet's Alter Ego. Harriet's was a landmark for ten years and through two locations first on Flatbush near Fifth avenue (at the toe of the footprint that is intended to be Ratner's folly aka Atlantic Yards) and later when that location was closed for demolition, causing Harriet's to move further up Flatbush Av to it's second home between Prospect and St. Marks. It has been more than a launching point for cultural creatives of color, it has in a long and short time nestled into folk-landmark status in Brooklyn's recent geographical and psychic landscape. After all that and more, Harriet's Alter Ego was closed Saturday with a joyous celebration (to paraphrase) of life, death and the spirits of our ancestors.
And dayum it was so good fun.
Old friends, new friends, small children, veggie buffet, flying fashions. All good indeed.
I'm not going to go on about the vibe at the closing party, or the rhythmic press of throbbing bodies. I won't try to encapsulate the shop co-owned by Hekima Hapa and Ngozi Odita that gave lift to the wings of so many talents. I won't do any of that any further because I feel the most striking sensation of the night was of energy let loose and run rampant resulting in the following moment. At one point I moved quickly from the dance floor because I realized that between the people, the movement and the resulting generated heat, I couldn't breathe.
I went outside, out to the freeze post midnight sidewalk and swallowed long gulps of cold air. Looking around I was surprised to see how many others were doing the same. And then I saw what for me was the quintessential defining image of the moment. It was the door of Harriet's cocked open with a heavy flow of steam billowing out. Not from a stove or furnace but from the power, the pure heat of the energized 500 plus who through Harriet's, let their spirits soar. The energy couldn't be contained, of course it went free.
Based on what Ngozi was saying you should keep and eye and an ear out for when that energy resettles, because it will.
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