www.outercityliving.com

nymag.com

Blackout
916 Manhattan Ave., Greenpoint, Brooklyn; 718-383-0254
Only in Greenpoint could you find the fashionista scene located next to the Polish meat store. As for the interior, it lives up to the name—black mirrored tables, black leather banquettes, pretty-boy bartenders in black tees, and a tin roof painted … yeah, you get it. The bar is long enough to avoid drunken encounters with struggling Goth models, and a sizable back garden offers an escape from the deep chasm of blackness within.

Doghouse Saloon
152 Orchard St., nr. Rivington St.; 646-429-8780
Deceased music venue the Annex has been reborn as the Doghouse Saloon, a balls-to-the-wall frat bar with multiple flat-screen TVs, Skee-Ball, pool, beer pong, free hot dogs, half-off margs during Monday Night Football, karaoke, and a live eighties band on Saturday night.

The Sackett
661 Sackett St., Park Slope, Brooklyn; 718-622-0437
The owners of the Sackett placed their bar on a side street for a reason: They’re aiming to keep things quiet, in line with their relaxed Park Slope location. Inside, the space is simple but warm—brick walls, knickknacks tucked away on the shelves, and tiny café tables. There’s a juke box by the door stocked with indie tunes, and a sloppy blues-rock is played on the house speakers. There’ll be an outdoor area opening in 2010, and a menu of appetizers and artisanal, oven-cooked sandwiches before then.

SPiN
48 East 23rd St., nr. Park Ave. South; 212-982-8802
This swanky homage to Ping-Pong and cocktails is a cross between a members-only club and an eighties high-school gymnasium. The Susan Sarandon–backed club houses 13,000 square feet of table-tennis space, flanked by a full bar, mini-bleachers, and a VIP room with a D.J. booth and a Rirkrit Tiravanija–designed Ping-Pong table made entirely of mirrors, worth $60,000.

Uncle Charlie’s
87 Ludlow St., nr. Delancey St.; 212-677-1100
Nightlife fixture Michael Ng is hoping that the same recipe of success—off-the-strip locale, live showtunes, buff bartenders—that worked at the Midtown East Uncle Charlie’s piano bar will attract a younger crowd at this LES location. This time out, there’s also flat-screens, beer pong, and room for 200.

The Woods
48 S. 4th St., Williamsburg, Brooklyn; no phone
To succeed in Williamsburg, a bar needs three things: a cavernous space, a “we don’t try too hard” attitude, and constant supply of plentiful and cheap booze. The Woods, owned by the same guys who run its popular neighbor, Savalas, has safely nailed all three. If you’re daunted by the bordello-red chandeliers or immaculate wood finishes, fear not—the bartender is shoveling out $2 Miller Lite, in plastic cups no less.

jerseycityindependent.com

By Jon Whiten • Nov 13th, 2009 • Category: Arts, Blog

TODAY

The opening reception for the Agitators Collective’s new can’t-miss show at the 58 Gallery, “Who Will Save Beauty?,” is at 7 pm; at 8 pm you have choices: Dave Greek hosts the Stockinette Cafe’s comedy night; doo-wop and classic cars come to the Loew’s; and the Attic Ensemble kicks off its latest production, Rabbit Hole (performances also scheduled for Saturday night and Sunday afternoon).

SATURDAY

Saturday morning at 11 am, the Hudson County Genealogical Society will host a slide presentation/lecture from Tom Bernardin on Ellis Island; at noon crafters will unite for a Stitch-In at the Jersey City Museum — and animal lovers will hop onto the bar crawl fundraiser for Liberty Humane Society. At 1 pm, Dr. Frank Gallagher and Dr. Claus Holzapfel will lead a nature walk into Liberty State Park’s interior 240-acre natural area, which isn’t normally open to the public. Saturday night brings the champagne gala reception for the Cathedral Arts Festival and a rare Saturday night show at Lucky 7’s featuring Kiwi The Child and Copasetic.

SUNDAY

At the Loew’s at 3 pm, there is a special screening of The Diary of Anne Frank, celebrating the 80th anniversary of Anne Frank’s Birth and the 50th anniversary of the film.

Jon Whiten is the founding editor of the Jersey City Independent. He is also the editor of AltWeeklies.com and the managing editor of NEW magazine.

by Hector Huezo

Un-fuckin’-believable…

This bat shit crazy broad is here.

This, THIS store, is MY safe haven.

It’s my sanctuary, my “fortress of solitude” amongst books in bulk & overpriced pig-swill coffee. Fuck, I’m upset but at the very least I’ve got about 15 yards between us.

Right, let me explain..

On a particularly depressing Sunday afternoon,  I decided to go to B&N & just park my ass down & read. A cute red head nursing student caught my eye, college kids were loudly attempting to study & there I was… sitting amidst the revelry of life, trying to forget about the past.

I was trying to read something lighthearted– Jim Norton’s “I Hate Everyone” (screw Catcher in the Rye, everyone should read THIS book) when a middle-aged pudgy woman asked if I’d mind watching her belongings while she went to the bathroom. Trying a feeble attempt to be my charming self I answered “Sure, but it’ll cost you $5″, she smiled & said I was witty & then instantly feeling uncomfortable  I said I didn’t mind watching her things, hoping she’d get the hint that I just wanted to read.  Well, she didn’t.

She then started asking me a bunch of questions: where am I from,
what do I do, what’s my nationality, then started getting too
personal; am I married, am I seeing anyone, etc…

I vaguely answered a few of her questions, but really just wanted to be left alone. She introduced herself as Terry, who upon initial contact with this person, resembled to be seemingly normal. She was about 5′ 0″, I’m guessing brown hair, a body which suggested her best friends were Ben & Jerry.

Within the first 5 minutes of our conversation I discovered that she:

was divorced but had no children,

she was taking care of her nieces & nephews as her sister was taking care of her brother in law due to having brain surgery,

she was going for her PhD in psychology (red flag 1),

her boyfriend had recently dumped her after declaring he was bi-sexual (red flag 2),

& she was ultimately dismayed at Latin culture in general,
particularly it’s youth. Ummmmmmm… k.

I know I talk a lot of trash & have this finger pointed at the world like it owes me something, but deep down I do try to be as courteous as humanly possible, so I listened with feigned politeness & attentiveness to this woman whom I can tell had some serious issues going on. There even came a point in which as she was speaking to me,  I literally turned my head to my book & just started reading as she continued to yammer on & on & on about some insipid conversation which I cared nothing about.  I spotted one of the cafe workers with whom I’m friendly with & gave her this look that said “I’m figuratively Jodie Foster being mentally raped by Theresa’s group of drunk men in The Accused, PLEASE HELLLLLLLP me!!!!!!!”, but she didn’t get my look & just continued to roll thegarbage out of the store.

Fuck.

I gave this woman as much courtesy as I possibly could, but listening to her go on & on & on was the equivalent of slamming my own testicles repeatedly by a car door. And then this piece of conversation occurred:

“Could I ask you a question?”,

“Well, nothing’s stopped you in the past 37 minutes so go for it…”,

“Do I look like I suffer from bi-polar disorder?”,

“Yes. Yes, you bat shit crazy cooze, you are fucking insane. I would rather walk through Newark with a sign that reads ‘Fuck Obama, Michael Alexander rules’ than listen to your ramblings. You weren’t given children for a reason because God didn’t wanna fuck this planet up anymore than it already is with your progeny. Please do yourself a favor & develop ALS (Stephen Hawking’s disease) & shut up you Cuban mass of NUISANCE.”

Now of COURSE I didn’t say that. I think I mumbled something to the effect,

“Mm? What? Bi-polar? No, you look as normal as most.” (I’m such a pussy. Why God even gave me a penis
is beyond me sometimes)

Now that question didn’t bother as much as the next one…

“You have a lot of female friends, right?”,

“I suppose as much as most males do”,

“Well, would you like another
female friend?”,

“Uh.. sure… I guess”.  She then proceeded to give me her phone number.

What the fuck??? Hey cute red head nursing student…. IT SHOULD’VE BEEN YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I proceeded to go to the bathroom a few times because I had to get away from her, & I also had more cigarettes within a an hour’s time than I care to count.

By about 7:15 I couldn’t take it anymore & decided to finally leave.  So, with little fanfare, I politely said “goodbye” & good riddance,” hoping I’d never see her again.

I got in my truck, deleted her number & suddenly didn’t mind so much that I’m alone for the moment. If this is the insanity out there waiting for a guy like me, then ramming my testicles in my car door doesn’t seem so bad for the moment.

A few weeks later, I’m back at B&N. I’m reading “God Hates Us All” by Hank Moody . The usual motley crew of assorted people are here; students, perverts, nuisances, etc… until this one manatee catches my eye.

Have you ever noticed how some fat girls talk? It’s almost as if the fat from their bellies crept up from their cow udders & lodged it’s way to their throat. I’m currently privy to this phenomena which I like to call “thick throat”, wherein a portly-sized Asian girl raised by Pokemon & Ramen noodles whom I’ve dubbed
So-Phat, is discussing physics (or Bon Appetite magazine, who fucking knows) with some dude who’d rather be watching a football game, I’m sure. Her voice is overpowering the guy’s & it sounds like she’s congested with fat, animal fat, or the contents of KFC’s Family Fun Bucket;  I can’t really tell.

Now, the moments in which she’s quiet I’m thinking she’s either– GOD FORBID– suffered a coronary,

fallen asleep,

or someone’s placed a suckling pig replete with a baked apple in it’s mouth for her to feast on.

B&N’s certainly full of it’s wayward oddities;

there’s the somewhat disturbing red faced white guy who’s changed tables at least 3 times & whom I’m pretty sure is either grading papers, or
writing a manifesto, neither would surprise me.

There’s also the self-described “frump-a-lump” ugly duckling who admits she’s not a glamorina, but has no problem dishing out a healthy slice of
criticism at women in fashions advertisements.

There’s also the creepy-uncle looking guy who keeps eyeing the no doubt in high school girls “studying” at the counter tables. In particular, the one in the green & white cheerleader outfit.

Hmm… wait…

onsecond thought… he may be on to something here.

Oh wait, Megan’s Law is still in effect so let me shut up.

Well, So Phat & Huggy Bear are leaving, and I’m seeing the Oriental wildebeest take her lazy strides, shuffling her feet in sandals,down the aisle to the exit.

Ok, what the egg roll’s up with Asian girls not being able to walk like a normal human being? Instead o factually lifting their feet & planting said feet heel to ball onto floor, they just shuffle their feet as if they’re mopping the floor with the bandages used to bind their feet.  Oh… maybe that’s it.

Anyway, I’m glad I can enjoy some silence without listening to her mucous coated throat box as it made me wanna wretch my lukewarm spinach & feta stuffed pretzel right here on this pea soup green table, but at least her Mt. Fuji sized heftiness moved & gave way to two good looking girls talking about some vacuous bullshit like ballet flats, the new Twilight movie or doing fun weekend activities like getting a hysterectomy.

There’s a guy to their left who is probably thinking what I’m thinking… no, not THAT, but a bloody, brutal, violent, ritualistic killing might make this night worth it.

Well, that & the cute high school chick in the cheerleader outfit trying to spell out my name using her pom-pom’s, but given the fact that today’s MTV, iPod & Blackberry ingesting spoiled youth have trouble putting a cohesive sentence together, I’m willing to wager she wouldn’t get past the “c” in my name, give
up, & spell “cat” instead.

Gimme a C! Gimme a U! Gimme an N!

I think we know where this is going.

I go back to reading “God’s Hates Us All” & am just enthralled by the story. I then want to stick my hands in a cage full of violently hungry wolverines for not writing this story first.

I give my eyes a rest for a second & who do I see coming my way but—
Theresa….

AW, FOR FUCK’S SAKES!

I politely say hello as she makes her way behind me to the counter to order her cup of coffee. The entire cafe is pretty much empty as it’s now 10 p.m. at night, sothere’s an excellent chance this mouthy waste of skin will weasel her way next to me & begin yet another inane conversation. I’ve hadabout enough of this, so with the skill of a ninja I gather up my belongings & stealthily leave the store like a guy leaving a girl with no birth control;  you run to the hills & pray you don’t get caught while making your exit.

I make my way to my truck & light a cigarette.

I tend to feel awful for thinking & saying & even writing the things I do because sometimes I feel I lack a filter.

I had that filter with someone who meant the world to me, but alas she saw the light & moved on to bigger & better & brighter things. Maybe this woman was feeling a different level of loneliness as I’ve felt.  Maybe she just wanted to reach out to someone the way I sometimes initiate conversations with complete strangers hoping to find some sort of connection & perhaps, maybe, forget about her pain for a while.

Maybe I was the last vestige of a friend long gone, long lost, long forgotten & she was trying to reclaim that?

Not my fuckin’ problem lady.

I hope a shark eats you on your raft
en route back to Cuba.

Pioneering deejay, and co-founder of The Juice Crew, John “Mr. Magic” Rivas has died from a heart attack at age 53. He was most known for his hip-hop show “Rap Attack”, with his partner, DJ Marley Marl, but was responsible for bringing hip-hop to the forefront on the radio. He had been playing rap records on community radio, and was recognized by NY radio station WBLS because of the large following he had.

“Magic was definitely the go-to person to put rap on radio for the first time and making everybody in New York City love rap’” said Marl.

Kool DJ Red Alert said that Magic was always considered a friend rather than a competitor. “We were always about the rap shows. Him on BLS, me on KISS.”  Also, over the years, rappers have noted that Magic was the reason for them getting into the game. Notorious B.I.G. being the most notable.

“Hanging pictures on my wall/ every Saturday, rap attack, Mr. Magic, Marley Marl”—”Juicy”

From 85-89, Mr. Magic released more than 5 full volumes of Mr. Magic’s Rap Attack on Profile Records. He also is the host on Wildstyle Radio in the game Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.

WBLS officials said they were in talks to put Mr. Magic back on the air at the time of his death.

www.diptnyc.files.wordpress.com/2009/07/sofia1.jpg?w=450&h=228

Born in Puerto Rico, 25 year old artist, Sofia Maldonado has already left a lasting impression around the world.

“It’s not graffiti: I never use a can. Always a brush.”

As a way to bring beauty to life, the anarcho-muralist (as some have dubbed her) has found her way to painting countless murals across the island. “On weekends in high school I would go around Puerto Rico and paint female characters and organic forms on random walls. I like the textures of buildings as they deteriorate. I did a mural 177 feet long in Old San Juan, and an abandoned pool in the rain forest in Rio Grande that we turned into a skateboard park.”

While Sofia received a Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree from Escuela de Artes Plasticas in San Juan, as well as a Master of Fine Arts from the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, NY, she received recognition as a mural painter in her own country by creating her own visual language through bright colors and flowing brush strokes that simulate nature and the elements of her surroundings. A mix being said to include skateboarding, graffiti, the chaotic landscape of the Caribbean, and the Latina aesthetic, Maldonado also blends fashion trends and street culture with musical inspiration such as  reggaeton and punk. Most recently, she set foot to Cuba.

“I love the skateboarding scene—it’s a really refreshing, anarchist sport. For the Havana Biennial, I painted a park and gave away 40 skateboards. I’ve painted some rooftop ramps here since I’ve moved to New York, but they don’t last too long before they’re painted over. It takes a lot of time, and a lot of permission, to paint in the streets here.”

Sofia has also taught various workshops on murals, and has exhibited in New York, Puerto Rico and Europe. She was recently included in the “S” Files” Biennial at El Museo del Barrio in New York, NY and continues to work and reside in Brooklyn.

for more info and art by Sofia Maldonado go to:

sofiarte.blogspot.com
skatemypatria.blogspot.com

www.cosmopolitan.com

Acquaintance-stalking is when a person who’s neither a stranger nor an ex-lover becomes obsessed with you — and it can sometimes lead to physical harm. So if the behavior of someone you sort-of know is creeping you out, don’t hesitate to take action.

September 10-20, 2009
New York City

by O. Arencibia

It has been eight years. Yet, the vision of that day lays fresh in my memory. The absolute perfect sky, whose crystal blue made even the clearest seas envious. The warm sun, the breeze that cooled the skin so perfectly. It promised to be one of the last great days of summer. The final breath of the season before autumn would take the warmth away. Little did we know that warmth would not be the only thing taken from us on that day.

It is with somber eloquence that we recall the events of that morning. As important as those events were to shaping the rest of our lives it is my belief that it was the days that followed that showed our true colors. The exchanging of hope for despair, of love for hate, is what bound us and carried on the spirit of the fallen. We must not forget that what helped us through those heartbreaking days was the feeling of togetherness that we shared with each other. It was the love we had for one another that is the true legacy.

Humanity has always been wrought with contradiction. We are capable of such beauty, such pristine courage in the face of heartless adversity. With one hand we can open the door to the wonders of the human spirit. Yet with the other we slam it shut. We show our tendency to hate what we fear and fear what we do not understand. We are fallible without concern for others and we fail at the simplest of kind gestures. A smile, a nod to the stranger that crosses our path, a thank you. We show capacity for greatness after insurmountable tragedy yet we choose to forgo that by not perpetuating the glory of our own kindness. We are so much better than this and we need only look at the weeks and months following this infamous day for proof of our own self worth. Still, something has been lost along the way. From that day to this, we have fallen short of our own destiny. We must reclaim our righteous post as the servers of goodwill to our fellow man.

So, on this day, let us remember our fallen heroes. Let us look to them for guidance in these troubling times of self doubt. With that same gaze we should remember the love we shared for one another, for our country, and for our beloved city whose twin anchors were taken by the deeds of evil hearts.

Generations are measured by the greatness of their worth; what worth will history bestow upon us? Let us take the reigns to our own destiny and begin the evolution of the human spirit. We owe it to our fallen, to the generations that came before us and to our children.

“Only a life lived for others is worthwhile, a hundred times a day I remind myself that my inner and outer life depend on the labors of other men living in debt and that I must exert myself in order to give the same measure as I have received.” Albert Einstein

A friend of mine hit me up on FACEBOOK last nite and had reminded me about the date. “You know what tomorrow is…you should do a piece on that.”   At first I thought it was his birthday and was like “Oh, shit. I haven’t even come up with an excuse yet of why I don’t have a gift THIS year again.”  But then i just remembered.  9/11.

Delicately.  It’s what I’m telling myself as I try to approach something so  unthinkable prior to the incident, yet you visualize immediately.  So strong an impression from the mention of the date alone.  9/11.  I mean, I was 1300 miles away and watched it in horror, live on t.v., when the second plane hit the building.  I remember that feeling of helplessness and anger.  I wasn’t here though.  Yet, I feel it too.

A few weeks  and a handful of incidents later, I found myself in a condition of rediscovery.  Rediscovering myself and reflecting on my own misdeeds as I was sent “up the road” for  4  1/2 years, at about the same distance as that television set.

My own situation became the focus at that time, but there was no way that I could forget what I had seen happen in what was my “backyard” for the first 27 years of my life.  Still, I truly never understood what it REALLY was to have been here after they cleared the streets of those lucky enough to have at least been carried away.  And I feel fortunate for this.

Consequently though, I feel like I’m looking in from out.  Sure of my feelings about the whole thing, but I’d really like to KNOW how YOU all feel about it.  How much or how little you felt during the days of and following these events that lead us to this conversation on a regular basis.  So, leave a comment, no matter how big or small and no matter how few of you will say something.  Let your people know that if they’d like to tell their story or  share their thoughts, that the floor is open and I’m really interested to know what went down in your hearts and heads that day.

All I want to leave you with is peace.  Because today should represent only that, regardless of where you were and what you were forced to witness.

PEACE…

by O. Arencibia

Derek Jeter has done what only one other player who has ever played for the fabled franchise could—amass 2,721 hits.   He ties “The Iron Horse”, the legendary captain of those juggernaut teams of the late 20′s and early 30′s and tomorrow he will most likely stand alone, hopefully in his first at bat. This is the way he would want it.

His timidness towards his own greatness has been well documented. He is more inclined to focus his efforts to better his team then to revel in what is now, without doubt, a Hall of Fame career. This selflessness is a virtue that is well respected throughout baseball. Not only in dugouts but in the stands. This is really only a first step towards a slew of milestones that No. 2 will soon leave in the dust.

Still, it is imperative that we “Take time to smell the flowers” as the elder Mr. Jeter told his son just a few weeks ago. Derek took his bows and with an uncomfortable grin, greeted the sell out crowd, saluted his team
mates and opponents (who were also standing and applauding) and began to refocus on the game the Yankees had yet to win. That is who he is. That is where he is comfortable. Quietly leading his team, who now have a 9 game lead on the rival Red Sox. He lives for October and this year he will play in its brisk autumn glory. As he should, as he has always been prepared to do for the last 14 years.

It should be mentioned that of a franchise that has won 26 World Series, that has been honored to field Hall of Famers like Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio and Lou Gehrig,  no player has ever had 3,000 hits.  Jeter, however,  seems destined to not only reach the vaunted mark but to blow past it.  At his current pace he should reach 3,000 hits by the year 2011, around his 37th birthday.  Then there is only the matter of surpassing some of the greatest players to ever grace the diamond. Though his shot at reaching Pete Rose or even Ty Cobb is daunting to say the least,  he does have a hitters chance  and after all that is what he does.  Now, he’s done it better than anyone to ever cover themselves in pinstripes.  Tomorrow night, as the iconic voice of Bob Sheppard introduces him to the batters box,  sit back and take it in. You are watching one of the best that has ever put on a pair of spikes.

“No.2 Derek Jeter No.2”