My friend Julien (above) is enmeshed in a debate with his girlfriend about the value of having kids. He just doesn't think you can have kids and have an ounce of punk rock soul left over. To this debate I would like add this portrait of young Lila B sent to me today by her dad.
Date unknown:
1930s:
current:
One of the first homes that jumped out at me when I moved to Brooklyn Heights was 135 Joralemon. In an orderly neighborhood it is neglected. Then in January it was boarded up and now it is abandoned. I pass the house every day and virtually every day it makes me stop in my tracks. It evokes The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton. I've been a fan of Burton's work as long as I can remember. Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel was an early favorite, as was Choo choo: the Runaway Engine, but the story that most fascinated was The Little House which I knew as La Casita (one of the few children's books in my grandparent's house in Mexico). It's the story of a house built in a the country that gets swallowed up by the big city. I was compelled by that idea and still am.
A bit of research shows a house at 135 Joralemon was listed as "longstanding" in a survey done in 1830. Most of Brooklyn was rural back then with large wooded tracts, creeks, and farms. In the 1820's developers started building heavily in Brooklyn Heights with Federalist style rowhouses on 25 foot plots. It's possible 135 Jorolemon predates that first burst of development but a more likely scenario is that a house existed on the land and was torn down to build a the current rowhouse during this era. Stone and brick homes didn't appear in the neighborhood until the 1830's and 40's and it was in that era that most Federalist homes like #135 were torn town and replaced with brownstone. While this house had probably been swallowed up by it's neighbors by the mid 1800's, it's clear the owners tried to keep it up to date. The metalwork and porch date from the Civil War when these 'southern style' details were in vogue. The earliest photo I could find was labeled 1870 (although there is some doubt as to the date) showing the house much as it is today, although obviously in much better shape. By the 1930's it was already looking run down and slightly haunted (the picture from that era shows a "for sale" sign outside). Today the house seems abandoned. I know it won't happen, but part of me wishes it could be put on a truck and sent out to the countryside where it could breath again.
I spotted the Nomadic Museum today on my way uptown and had to stop. The museum/exhibition opens tomorrow. I know I'll be visiting first chance I get. The museum is only here until June when it will head to LA.
If you are a New Yorker (or just someone who loves New York) with any sense of history, check out the NY Public Library Digital Image Archive. It's a treasure trove of amazing images.
http://digitalgallery.nypl.org
Here's a shot of the original breathtaking Penn station before it was destroyed to make way for the colossally ugly Madison Square Garden:
I suggest you start searching by plugging in the name of the street you live on. :)
Dead at 94, but he'll live on around here.
I'm pretty sure I've broken my toe. It's purple and is unnaturally large. This is less than ideal as we're having a party for about 40 people this weekend. I've gotten weaker in my old age. A few years ago I broke a toe while trekking and just kept on walking (didn't really have another option). Right now this stupid thing has me nearly incapacitated. How did I break it you ask? While running to get a camera I almost tripped over my new ukulele and put the full weight of my body on my big toe. It made a nice crunching sound. Ignominious. Grrrrrr. Happily the uke was spared.
. . .
Seems like one of those days. My dad just called to say his wallet was stolen while boarding a bus.
A quote from Jenn's mom, "Don’t let anyone stay at the house more than one week. Even me. I only stay one week, maximum two weeks."
For some odd reason last night in my cold-induced dream I was recalling one of my 2 trips to Cambodia. The first in 1991, the second in 1992 or 93. This was back before the political situation was stable and there was always the sense that danger lurked just around the corner. Ankgor Wat was empty back then, the domain of former Khmer Rouge soldiers, pythons, and rather unfriendly spiders. When you visited you were always alone... In the dream all the giant heads on the statues were whistling 'Yes We Have No Bananas' as I tiptoed through an unmarked minefield. Creepy.
I'm not sure what this has to do with anything... but there it is.
amongst strangers on the train:
ada (on left) & raul. due the same day. born a week apart in the same hospital:
from my cross country trip last summer:
If you enjoyed that one, you should probably check out this one too.
Inspiring photoblogs/portfolio sites I've run across recently:
Stephanie Sinclair
Noah K, Everyday
Overshadowed
Komsomolskaya
114th
snapscot
Slower
Rion
photobooth directory
shannon fagan
travis ruse
And some great flickr sets:
locaburg
marcelo thomas
only alive
whileseated
snapatorium
swatt
cherry vega
On the left, my grandmother Olivia Aurora. She was 13.
In the middle my great grandfather Jose Dolores. On the right my grandfather Rodolfo. My grandfather was 18 and tired of being a cowboy. During this year, as he had since he was 12, he would ride cattle to Monterrey with his brothers. In Monterrey they would be paid in gold and each of the brothers would hide coins to protect against robbery.
After Christmas this year he left for New York City by bus starting from Roma (now Rome) Texas.
In New York he would enjoy two exciting years which he would talk about for the rest of his life. After he left in 1929 he never returned.
