if you want to fit in, call kool-aid flavors by the color unless its grape because purple is something else

aaannnd.....the Kool-Aid mascot is a big glass pitcher who says "Ohhhh Yeahh!" and crashes into a wall. Very interesting. This will all make sense, if you decide to peruse this poignant post.

The whole death of Michael Jackson has probably died down in other areas of the country, but here in Harlem, you can still hear the cacophony of "Candy Girl," "Beat it" and "Thriller" mixed with cars honking and the sounds of busses purring to a stop. If you didn't pick up an MJ memorial shirt, button, poster or hat you can still get a variety at any of the tables lining 125th.

Speaking of iconic figures, if you love Bob Marley, you can get his paraphernalia (shirts, flags, posters, incense and probably ganja) next to the Uptown Juice Bar on 125th. The Uptown Juice Bar is the epicenter of Rastafarians. They always set up shop outside morning till night in authentic Jamaican clothing. It is also one of the only vegetarian/vegan restaurants in Harlem. If you say no to eating animals, have fun trying to find a place besides UJB that will satisfy your needs. Luckily, I'm okay with eating animals, so a week ago I chowed down at Amy Ruth's with a couple friends. Amy Ruth's is notorious for fried chicken and waffles. YES. TOGETHER. So, my friend, Nicole, and my roommate, Renee, and I ordered the "Reverend Al Sharpton" plate. We decided to go all out and order the Kool-Aid flavor of the day--Grape, a side of collard greens (amazing!) and mac and cheese. Delicious cornbread came out beforehand and shortly after the last bite was swallowed, we started pouring maple syrup all over our waffle and fried chicken. "Hey why not pour it on the chicken, too?" I said. This is a Harlem experience and we should do it like it's supposed to be done. Everything was delicious. Maple syrup and all. The Kool-Aid, which I jokingly nick-named "purple drank" was wayyy too sugary. I swear a half cup of sugar was in my cup alone and I could only drink half. Someone must have spiked the Kool-Aid because I started getting the giggles (side note: Don't worry. I didn't see Jim Jones or Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters hanging around Amy Ruth's). I had a slice of sweet potato pie in mind for dessert, but we couldn't possibly manage because, by that point, we all had food babies.

Anyhoo, when I get tired of fried chicken, or I just need to give my body a break from the Soul, (and I must postulate that Harlem-ites must need a change from fried meat--giving that UJB is extremely popular) I can just turn the corner and get some vegan food or some Bob Marley bling.

microwave trek

I've fallen victim to perpetually looking at Craigslist for free and cheap finds to furnish the apartment. Yesterday, I went to pick up a microwave which was listed as being in the Upper East Side. It turned out to be more Midtown, but that wasn't going to stop me because it was $10. The $10 was the highlight of this microwave journey. I had no idea how far East 10th Ave. was from the subway stop, so I ended up walking about 10-12 blocks just to get to this CLister's place. (P.S I love looking at people's apartments who live in different areas. Most are extremely small, while others have the perks of air conditioning, or a doorman, or an elevator for about 2,000 more than I pay a month). Anyways, 12 blocks later, I learned I was wearing the wrong shoes. There really are no right shoes in NYC unless you've got tennis shoes on or those shoes they wear in Portland, OR. Blisters popping out from all sides of my feet, I was glad to finally see the microwave. It looked brand new, great for 10 bucks. I asked the CL dude if there was a closer subway to his place and he said Grand Central on 42nd and 7th Ave, so I was happy to hear that.

I picked up the microwave and gasped. This is heavier than I thought it was going to be. I kept on telling myself (cheapskate that I am) "$10. Do it for the 10$). Out I went. The doors were my first obstacle. It looked like I was trying to embrace this microwave like it was a fat person (I could hardly get my arms around the thing). The hard corners of it jabbed into my skin of where my arms bend and I already had sweat pouring down my back as soon as I got outside. Grand Central was a long way from his place. Especially with a 40 lb microwave in toe. Every 1/4 of a block I had to readjust. My hands were slipping from the sweat. People were staring at me. I'd pull my knee up to bump it up when it was slipping, hoping for a place to set my leg, so that I could rest it. The thing was huge and I shouldn't have been doing this alone I realized. 20 minutes later (brief breaks included) I arrived at Grand Central. Oh nooooo! I yelled in my head. This is the station that is huge. To get to my train I basically would have to walk another 3 city blocks underground. NYC blocks are really long blocks. My arms were shaking, I was soaked with sweat, but I had no other ideas except to move forward. I thought about a cab, but I figured I was already there, so I might as well continue. Plus, the microwave would no longer be 10 dollars if I took a cab. Swiping my metro card and getting through the turnstyle, which in this case happened to be the door kind was tricky. Two people helped me swipe my card and move the revolving door. I almost thought I'd get stuck. How could they not have a service entry when I need it most?? I was through, but now I had basically 3 blocks to get to the 3 train. Sometimes, when things are this physically hard, you think you're going to die. My arms had little strength left. I tried to walk faster, but it kept slipping from my grasp. "What if I dropped it at this point?" I thought. I didn't think I'd be able to go any further as I set part of it on a side railing to give my arms a break. An older lady came up to me and started talking and I had to explain to her what I was doing. I knew she couldn't help me. "Dios mio" she said in Spanish. Yes. Exactly. "Dios mio." I continued. I tried to run to get there faster, but the blisters were shouting. I had basically a block left when a tourist guy offered to carry it for me until he got to his train. This was a much needed break. He and his girlfriend were going to see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island and in exchange for carrying my burden of a microwave, I gave him solid directions on which train to take and where he should get off. I felt like a real New Yorker despite my trembling arms. We parted ways and I carried the thing down the steps to go uptown. Finally, the train came and I sat it on my lap like an obese baby with lead weights in his diapers. I never wanted to get off that train. I was sitting in the air conditioning and dreading the call of my street number on the scratchy intercom. I looked around at the muscular men who I might be able to ask to help me. One more stop till I had to get off. Panic. What was I going to do? There was no way I could make it. The doors opened and a blast of heat hit my face sending me into a lightheaded wave of misery. I swung my arms around the thing and went through the service door, up the steps and into the light. Nope. This was too much. I rested it on my leg and stood there for a few minutes. People asked me if I needed help, but I said well yeah, it's heavy but...and then they left me there. Finally a tall black man with a good English accent came up to me. Somehow I managed to say "I'll give you 5 dollars to walk this to my apartment." I knew it had to be this way otherwise, I would have stood there on the steps all day. We conversed as we walked. He was much more capable of handling the microwave than I was. Turns out he was from Senegal, Africa and just moved to NYC. "Do you know Africa?" he said. "Do I know it? Yes. Only in studies, though" I replied. Then he asked me if I had a man. "Obviously not." I stated. From this question I knew that I wouldn't open my apartment door until he left, even though he seemed like a fairly okay guy by the time we climbed the 5 flights of stairs. There was no need for him to actually bring it in my apartment anyways. I wasn't a weakling, after all. I had already done all the dirty work (I have bruises to prove it). I handed him a 5 dollar bill, he thanked me and was off.

So, it ended up being a $15 microwave. C'est la vie.

craigslist finds: microwave 10+5, kitchen cart rolled to apartment 15$. sack of potatoes and blender not included

I finally don't feel like a tourist.

Walking along Canal Street amidst the waves of tourists looking for their next knock-off purchase handbag or watch, I realized this: I finally don't feel like a tourist. I was trying to get through the crowd. They were slow, decked out in the latest "I heart NYC" t-shirts and showing off their shiny plastic looking purchases to their bffs while I was trying to get to my next destination. It's a good feeling to know that you are a part of the life of the City--not just the life that stays there for a weekend and leaves. While getting stuck in the tourist trap, I wondered what NYC would be like without all the tourists--maybe just for a couple days. There is still something very NY about having the tourists and the locals side-by-side. I get a kick out of people watching, in general. I think that's one reason I like the subways so much. But, you have to be careful that you don't look at someone too long. Some people just don't like it.
My roommate is coming tomorrow. I've had the luxury of lounging around in the heat sans clothing because I'm the only one here, but it will be nice to have another CYer to talk with. I took some pictures of my room for those of you dying to see (I still need a couple more rods 4 curtains:

Central Park, 843 Acres of Green

Thus ends my mom's short visit to NYC. Her help was much needed. "That's what mothers are for" she announced at the end of her stay (not while laboring up 4 flights of steps a gazillion times with boxes/instruments/tubs and mattress in hand). We'll leave those words up to the imagination. Besides exerting ourselves with my move, we ate at a pizzeria called Patsy's and took an extensive walk in Central Park. Patsy's was less then great despite popular reviews, but Central Park is still all it's cracked up to be.
Miss Ruby (for those reading who have not yet met this character in my play of my life, she is the family border terrier and bearded sister I never had) came along for the jaunt from 125th to eventually about 73rd. Her four legs must get a lot more tired than our two because every 15 steps, she wanted to lay down. So, if you were in Central Park today and saw us, you would probably have laughed like the many others upon seeing Ruby in one of our arms. We saw one of those mop looking dogs (Pooleys) whose vehicle of choice through Central Park was a baby stroller. Ruby and us humans would have liked that option much better.

We were on the quest to find my mom's favorite part of Central Park, which for identification/direction purposes we later found out to be called "The Mall." Tree lined and green, it doesn't get much better in the park. I'll have to visit that place every season and take a picture because I'm sure it is just as beautiful in the fall when the leaves are changing colors and in the winter, when the trees are covered in white against the blue sky. We sat down on the benches and enjoyed the surroundings. Every bit of green is cherished in the city. If you have any bit of green in front of your apartment, you are paying extra or you can find people ooing and ahhing over potted plants and a 3 Square foot area of planted flowers. Central Park is green overload for the city dweller and inhabitants definitely take advantage of every foot of the expansive park. You can escape from the traffic and the tall buildings and another nice part about it is that you can keep exploring from every angle because it's so big.

It's hard to find quiet in the city. I think I'll get used to it, eventually. Even the park has it's musical acts, performers and street people trying to earn their living by making noise. (I thought a long time while walking about bringing my own bass into the park to make a bit of money). I slept better last night. Busses and cars pass by my apartment at every hour, but it is slowly becoming just a natural noise. I'm feeling a lot more settled about life here now that curtains are up, mattress is in place and I've got some food in my refrigerator.

All for now.
.S.

Harlem is the New Black

I've been to my apartment a few times now. The yellow awning marked Soul Food is my landmark for which way to turn (right or left) on 125th, once I get off the subway. Papa asked me on the phone what the area was called, and I guess technically speaking it's the heart of Harlem . From block to block on 125th, Harlem changes. Walk the length of it from West to East and you will see stores change and people change. On my walk from the subway to my apartment the other day, I inhaled the smells of different foods, incense being sold by the Rasta guys and the fresh sweet smell of pineapple on skewers and mango salad being sold by hispanics. Papa asked me me what kind of people lived in the area, and I told him it's mostly black people. "What percentage do you think?" he said. "I don't know. A lot" I replied. "Well just give me an estimate. 70%?" Walking down the street that day, I realized I was the only white person and it being hot, I was showing a lot of my pale legs. I don't mind being the odd one out. I'll be working in this environment in City Year, and I'm pretty used to the big black population in the city of St. Louis. People seem nice, so far, and I'm thinking prices might be a bit less for dinner at the local BBQ or Soul Food joint. But, where did all the white people go? Are they afraid? This area is so exciting and filled with so many interesting people! The Apollo theater is only a couple blocks away from me, and I hear that it was the place to be when Michael Jackson died. Whoever is afraid is missing out on a big part of NYC. Some white people got off on the subway when I got off, but then it seemed like they disappeared. Very strange. So, I did my cleaning in my apartment for a couple hours, and then returned to the subway. I couldn't help thinking again why there weren't any white people on the street except for me. This time, I had to go across the street to the subway heading downtown, which is where the Starbucks resides. I looked inside and at the people going in and out and realized "This is where the white people go."

Besides Starbucks, I'm also near a Dunkin Donuts, fed-ex, hardware store, pharmacy, outdoor markets, delis, marshall's, H&M, Body Shop and a whole bunch of other places. Everything I could ever need is around me. This makes my apartment louder than most that I was looking at, but once it gets cold, the windows will be closed and less people outside. Besides, I sleep with ear plugs in. With each day, I think the apartment will get a better vibe, as it will become homier and more mine than the last girl's. I look forward to getting a mattress, hanging curtains and putting up pictures of my friends and family. Once everything is fixed up nicely, I'll take pictures. Oh and I'm missing my bass. I plan on pulling out some excerpts as soon as I get my bass in the place and a chance to settle down.

Think I might go out to Dive Bar with Lara for a beer tonight. (Brooklyn Brewery is pretty tasty.) She's trying to make it her neighborhood bar a.k.a get on the bartender's good side, so she can get drinks cheaper.

Later,
.S.