Gotham City Soul

The East River park has been slowly, slowly, getting a facelift, to the tune of millions of dollars, all well-deserved. Of all the parks in the city, it is my favorite, not just because of its proximity to my house (Tompkins Square Park, another favorite, is closer), but because it's so . . . normal. There are no testosterone-fueled packs of extreme cyclists ready to mow everyone down like in Central Park. The landscape doesn't feel inaccessible, like Bryant Park (when it wasn't being overrun by fashion week or some such). Sure it has been worn down in places, but that's been worked on to wonderful effect. The promenade is being rebuilt and we have access to the river again. Here's something I wrote about the park some years back. It is a good park, the East River Park, measured not in acres, but in the sounds that it produces. First there are the obvious sounds. The big noise of Latin men playing the games of their childhood; Dominicans and Puerto Ricans and Cu...

For Father's Day I thought I'd post an excerpt from a memoir I am writing. A thing I can look at, and do often, is a photo of my father that I took on our last trip together to his hometown of Battle, Alabama in May 2001. It is one of him sitting in a folk art gallery. It was located not far from where he grew up in Russell County, in the southeastern part of the state, not far from the Georgia border. He is sitting in a rocker, relaxed, and smiling. Primitive paintings done by local artists make a colorful backdrop. What I love about this picture of my dad so much is that I had coerced him into taking me to the gallery—really just a somewhat broken down general store run by a white man in his seventies, Frank Turner, who called himself the Mayor of Pittsview. Dad, because he had a father’s heart for a daughter, went along with my "art collecting" shenanigans, and we wound up standing in "The Mayor's" office. If you knew my father, you would know his tas...

Yesterday, I saw this on my twitter feed: " questlove Questo of The Roots Its just hittin me: as much jewish people I got on payroll, NADA ONE has invited me to the crib for dinner this week! # reUP ?" I laughed because I was thinking the same thing as Questlove : Where was my Passover dinner invitation? I have a number of close Jewish friends who love me, I know they do, yet nada . I understand that it is deeply spiritual and important celebration of the deliverance of the Israelites from Egypt. But I also know that Christians are allowed to participate, and years ago, some time in the early 1990s, I did participate in the only Passover seder I've ever been to. At the time I was palling around with a young woman who is the daughter of a renowned television journalist. We had met over our dogs in Tompkins Square Park. It was a week or so before Passover and she was surprised to hear I'd never been to one meal. S...

From: Manning Marable Sent: Thursday, May 22, 2003 4:55 PM To: Peterson, Audrey Subject: RE: Affirmative Action, Brown v. Board of Education, et. al Dear Audrey, Thanks for your email. I may have told you about my chronic illness, sarcoidosis, which my physician now says probably was responsible for elevating my calcium levels, which led to the creation of kidney stones. Anyway, the bad news is that I've just learned that the ilnness, which was in remission for seven years, is now active again, and I'm going to have to devote more time just to health maintenance. To make a long story short, this means that I will need to cut back on some writing projects I wanted to do this summer, and unfortunately that included my article ideas for your magazine. Don't worry--I have a sabbatical leave in 2004 so I'm sure that I'll be able to contribute something of value to your excellent publication. Yours, Manning -----Original Message----- From: Peterson, Audr...

When I was kid, I was always encouraged to give something up for Lent. My mom would suggest we choose something that would be not so easy, like candy or our favorite television program (not that we were allowed to watch more than a couple of hours on the boob tube when we were young). Of course, we'd try to slide by with something that was easy to give up because we never really cared about it in the first place. The trick was to make everyone think it was a pretty important sacrifice. If you picked broccoli, or any vegetable or good-for-you food, you were sure to be shot down. Same went for an activity that you could live without--badminton or ping pong, for instance. You had to prove that you would feel it if it went missing. I can't remember what my choices were as a child, or even as an adult. Which started me thinking some time ago about the entire concept of giving something up. I know it's supposed to make you a better person somehow, and I'm not knocking it--I j...

Some years back I was recording some music for Christmas, which would be held at my brother’s house in Virginia and got knocked in the heart without warning when I clicked on Susser die Glocken nie Klingen . From the first notes I began to tear up. I think that my mother must have been playing these songs when I was in the womb (I was born in Germany). I never really learned the words, but could easily translate them if I wanted to. Here I am a black American woman crying at my computer over German Christmas songs. I have not been back to Germany since I was born, but the culture is so hardwired into my system that things German really get to me. Christmas began with the first Sunday of Advent. Mom would pull out a little brass-plated Advent candle chime that I always thought was German, but turned out to be of Swedish origin. It has four candles and above them a merri-go-round type of contraption with angels and chimes hanging from it dangling from it. Inside the angel...

Warning: This is not for people under the age of 18. Period.   So for the past couple of years I've tried to provide you with a holiday palate cleanser. Something to offset all the traditional Christmas/Hannukah/Winter Solstice/Kwaanza delirium that sets in right about now (although, is it just my imagination, or are people acting with a bit more restraint and common sense this year?) Top of my list of things to see and do this year is a film I haven't seen yet myself, but I've been told by a friend is good. Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale looks like just the sort of flick to put the edge on. Looks like the real Santa is a truly bad one and is being kept frozen in the arctic by scientists. It's playing in NYC until December 14, so catch it if you can. From scary to funny. From Mad TV: If you want to get back to scary Santa, here's an oldie but goody from 1972. What could be better than Joan Collins in a stand off with crazy Santa. I don't know what...