still working on posting hand written NY stuff:
July 3, 2006
I saw John Stewart in Washington Square Park today. He looked as fucked as the rest of us. 10-O'clock shadow and all with a toddler. I wonder if he ever rides the "J" or if Brooklyn is in his vocabulary. An idol, or a least a figure head in front of me and I consciously try not to stare while obviously staring to make sure I've spotted him accurately. I mean: white, middle aged, in loose multi pocked thin hemp-like pants? Really? Even John Stewart dresses like a Yuppie in Manhattan come July.
My neighborhood is a Chapel show skit clich waiting to happen. The "Hasley" stop, 24 Wierfield, just two stops from the caf-cool parts of Williamsburg Brooklyn N.Y. There's a Korean convenience store owner just around the corner. He stares diligently at every black boy under 17 that comes in, but holds my orders till I have time to visit the ATM and come back. To make up for it, 4 African American men call me "Jungle Love" as I make my way home after picking up tofu and Noodles everyday on my way home. I don't think I'd care except here they don't know I have Iron Triangle creds, so catcalls come off condescending and borderline threatening. Here, I'm just another 4-year-degeree bitch looking to change the color of the Jamaican line.
I wish I could walk around in a T-shirt letting everyone know with one chiche overdone Che-style T-shirt that I was born in a war zone not unlike this one. Of course if I could then the scenesters in Williamsburg would start silk screening coppies, then Urban Outfitters would catch on and sooner or later our despiration would be sold at falling prices during back to school week at Walmart...and no I don't want that.
July 3, 2006
I saw John Stewart in Washington Square Park today. He looked as fucked as the rest of us. 10-O'clock shadow and all with a toddler. I wonder if he ever rides the "J" or if Brooklyn is in his vocabulary. An idol, or a least a figure head in front of me and I consciously try not to stare while obviously staring to make sure I've spotted him accurately. I mean: white, middle aged, in loose multi pocked thin hemp-like pants? Really? Even John Stewart dresses like a Yuppie in Manhattan come July.
My neighborhood is a Chapel show skit clich waiting to happen. The "Hasley" stop, 24 Wierfield, just two stops from the caf-cool parts of Williamsburg Brooklyn N.Y. There's a Korean convenience store owner just around the corner. He stares diligently at every black boy under 17 that comes in, but holds my orders till I have time to visit the ATM and come back. To make up for it, 4 African American men call me "Jungle Love" as I make my way home after picking up tofu and Noodles everyday on my way home. I don't think I'd care except here they don't know I have Iron Triangle creds, so catcalls come off condescending and borderline threatening. Here, I'm just another 4-year-degeree bitch looking to change the color of the Jamaican line.
I wish I could walk around in a T-shirt letting everyone know with one chiche overdone Che-style T-shirt that I was born in a war zone not unlike this one. Of course if I could then the scenesters in Williamsburg would start silk screening coppies, then Urban Outfitters would catch on and sooner or later our despiration would be sold at falling prices during back to school week at Walmart...and no I don't want that.