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Showing posts from January, 2010

Spread the Love

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Listen up: The Breukelen Coffee House will hold it's first official art opening on Friday, February 5. Among those participating in this incredible event is my boy Mike Sorgatz , a massively talented artist and husband of my big time buddy Eleanor Traubman, chief cook and bottle washer at Creative Times . A Brooklyn-based DJ, will be spinning fly tunes, and a Brooklyn-based bartender will be spreading the love in its liquid form, which is my favorite way of getting it. In addition to the party and press, there will be an independent documentary film crew be on hand to take footage for their docu on the 6 month progression of the Breukelen Coffee House. The event runs from 8pm to 12am. Breukelen Coffee House is located 764A Franklin Ave. Now you've got everything you need to know. So come on down to party, drink, and get some culture, damn it.

Save Coney Island!

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Heads up, y'all. If you love Coney Island--and who the hell doesn't?--then get on down to Galapagos Art Space this Saturday, January 30, for a good old fashion Brooklyn ho down. The folks at Save Coney Island are holding a fundraiser for the hallowed amusement area. "Gone Country for Coney" will feature five of the city's best plinkers and plunkers. The eats will be provided by Jakes BBQ. Save Coney Island is fighting to restore Coney as a world-class amusement destination, and this includes "trying to revise or overturn the city's misconceived plan for the amusement district." The group is working on a number of initiatives, including efforts to insure a successful 2010 season and protect historic buildings along Surf Avenue. The event runs from 3pm to 9:30pm. Tickets are $15 until 5pm and 20 bucks for the slow pokes out there. And you get a raffle ticket with entry. Could you possibly need anything else? Of course not! Galapagos Art Space is loca

I, the Juror

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I’ve been chosen to play a vital role in our legal system. I am helping advance the cause of justice that dates back to the days of our founding fathers. I got nailed for jury duty. I don’t know what I did, but it was enough to get me a seat in the jury box at a civil trial. There’s nothing quite so depressing as pulling that jury summons out of your mail box. Your heart just sinks, your blood pressure soars and you ask why, why me, why now? I’ve got things to do, goddamnit. Yeah, you and 12 million other people. I went down to the central jury room and joined a cast of extremely unhappy characters. It was like being in church only here people really pray—as in please Dear God don’t let them pick me! Voices pour out of the PA system reciting the names of every person on earth, or so it seems. I suspect the afterlife is something like this. We arrive, take our seats in a vast room and wait until the Big Voice calls our name. I wasn’t feeling at all well on this particular day and I real

'I Have a Dream'

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I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a se

Goodbye, Joe

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I was reading an article in today’s New York Times about a 104-year-old strong man who died Monday after being hit by a minivan as he crossed Bay Parkway. This is terrible , I thought, as I read about Joe Rollino, who once billed himself as the "Strongest Man in the World." He was so powerful and had lived for so long only to die like this. It's just not fair. It just seemed like yet another tragic story in a city--and a world--that has far too many of them. But as I continued to read the story something started to nag at me. The article said Joe had been a boxer who had fought under the name Kid Dundee and there was a photo of Joe at his 103rd birthday party, his fists raised in a fighter's stance. And then I realized that I knew Joe Rollino. It was three years ago, just a few months after my father’s death. I was shopping at a store on Fifth Avenue in the old Thriftee store. The owner pointed to Joe and told me that he was going to turn 102 the following week. Like

California Dreaming

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Let’s see: freezing temperatures, work crews drilling right outside my door, and a general feeling of misery. All right I get the point; I’m not in Los Angeles anymore. Stop rubbing it in. I got just back from a 10-day trip to L.A., where my sister and I visited my uncle Joe and his wife during Christmas week. I'm wishing I had stayed there, but that's what I said about 15 years ago after my last visit to Joe's place. Two days ago I was walking around in a t-shirt in 70-degree weather, admiring the sunshine and the palm trees. Now the holidays are over and I’m freezing my keester off in Brooklyn. I flew out on Xanax Air on December 26 and arrived in the City of Angeles in a drooling stupor. I’m not particularly proud of that but it certainly beats whimpering and crushing my sister's hand in terror for five hours. It’s a shame I didn’t pack some Xanax for my trip to Disneyland. This was my first visit to the Land Where Dreams Come True and after enduring the long lines a