[My Life] Thank you for crotch watching…

It is always good to take a trip down memory lane, well in most cases. This morning I was going through some old blogs that I had posted on a social networking website from 2009, talking about when I would travel back and forth from Brooklyn to Staten Island everyday on the ferry to be with grandmother while she was in the Burn Unit ICU in Staten Island University Hospital. I hated the commute in every which way. An hour to get to Staten Island and another hour to get the hospital was draining on my mental state and most days I was deeply depressed or angry.

Before this accident, I’ve never been on the ferry. It was a new and unwelcoming experience. The massive rude crowds of people rushing in trying to trample over you for a damn seat and afterwards engaging in all sorts of loud personal conversations that would make Heather Del Rio blush. Boy, Oh boy… Most of the time I would buy a coffee and zone out with my mp3 player blasting some angry hip hop music.

On one such afternoon, I was in my own little world oblivious to anything around me. As I drifted in and out of a cat nap, I never noticed a man taking a seat right in front of me. I was wearing some fitted jeans, not the tight ass yeast infection stuff these people are walking around in these days, but something that actually fitted my body and wasn’t half way off my ass. I usually sit like most guys do. Feet planted firmly on the floor with my legs open, which is nothing special at all. Midway into the voyage, I suddenly felt there were eyes on me.  Have you ever gotten the feeling that you were being watched? Not a comfortable feeling at all is it? When I looked up, the gentleman that was sitting across from me eyes were fixated on my crotch. Yeah… I wanted to tell him that it doesn’t do tricks, but thought it would be unwise to do so. So I snapped my fingers and he popped out of whatever daze he was in and looked me in the face.

The one thing my friends all tell me is that my facial expressions show my feelings no matter how much I try to hide it. At that moment, I didn’t have a warm expression on my face. He turned bright red with what I assume was embarrassment, and unfolded the newspaper to read. Now I could laugh about it, but at the moment I was heated. I started to wonder if I needed a giant belt buckle that said: No eyes beyond this point! But I guess that would defeat the purpose now wouldn’t it. Since I wrote the blog, I’ve taken great care in covering that part of my body while on mass transit. Nothing is worse than a wondering erection where a woman screams pervert and your face is on the front page of the Daily News or someone watching in between your legs like its Direct TV.

Stuff like this makes me really make me want to get a car, to avoid nonsense like this.

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] Grade Pending

Listen close and you will hear a story of great woe. Just like the fairy tales of old, this tale begins with the phrase used so many times before with once upon a time in a little place called Canarise Brooklyn. It was a quiet night in which a BOY traveled to and fro in search of a great meal. With his stomach growling he entered a place called Fortune Cookies Chinese Restaurant. As the BOY entered the tiny little shop, he did not notice the NYC Health Department “Grade Pending” sign in front, because if he did it would have warned him of the troubles to come. The BOY gave the female shop keeper his order of lo mein with fried chicken and started to count the minutes before he can quench his hunger. As he sat and waited, one of the workers came into view. He was very slobbish, covered in dirt, grease and grime. Like clouds in the sky, the BOY could see patterns form on the workers apron. The BOY shuddered a bit. The worker placed a mop in his hand to the side so he could close a trash bag overflowing with rubbish. It was quite a difficult task. He took his bare hands to push everything inside so he could be able to seal the black bag. Once finished, he pulled the bag out and dragged it into the street for the garbage men to come pick it up in the wee hours of the morning. Once he returned, he entered the kitchen, dipped his hands in the container of lo mein noodles and threw it into a wok. The BOY gasped at this sight. The man, who he just seen taking his bare hands pushing down garbage, was now, cooking his meal without washing his hand. Sicken to the core, the BOY fled in hopes to never return, but he had realized one thing too late. He had eaten from this same place several times before…

The moral, if you can call it that is…

DO NOT FUCKING EAT AT FORTUNE COOKIE CHINESE RESTAURANT LOCATED AT 9004 AVEUNE B IN BROOKLYN, N.Y.!!!

Of course there is more to this story. A while back, I wrote a blog called: B is for Failure, in which I talked about a Subways restaurant on my block that had a B-rating from the Health department. After seeing that rating, I went on the health department’s website and did my own little research about other places in my neighborhood. Many places had sever violations and it made me really wonder had these places can get away with this. In this little adventure, I did my research once again on the placed named above and was shocked to what I had discovered and the loop holes used so that the public is not aware of this travesty. On the NYC health department website you can find out how they score and grade plus there latest and previous inspections. It’s quite simple really. The age of technology is just a wonderful beast at times.

When you are on the website, you can either enter in the eatery’s name you want to find or the zip code, which in this case 11236, and it will pull up the place or all the restaurants within that area. After filtering based on cuisine type (American, Bakery, Caribbean, Chinese, etc…), I found Fortune Cookies had a “Not Yet Graded” as their current grade (When I first did the search it was actually a C grade, but it has since changed). While going through the inspections on the left side of the screen of their most recent I disgusted by what I saw. To put things in perspective here is the how the health department score violations…

From the “How we score and Grade” PDF:

The points for a particular violation depend on the health risk it poses to the public. Violations fall into three categories:

A public health hazard, such as failing to keep food at the right temperature, triggers a minimum of 7 points. If the violation can’t be corrected before the inspection ends, the Health Department may close the restaurant until it’s fixed.

A critical violation, for example, serving raw food such as a salad without properly washing it first, carries a minimum of 5 points.

A general violation, such as not properly sanitizing cooking utensils, receives at least 2 points.

 

In September of last year, Fortune Cookie was graded 3 times. Once on the 10^th which added up to 62 violation points, the next on the 13^th which added up to 32 points and lastly on the 14^th with only 3 points. Lucky for the public you can actually see what they were violated for. This is a screen shot of the September 10^th list violations:

Click on image to expand size.

Personal cleanliness… does that creep anyone else out like it did me? I have to assume as a person looking at this, that it only received a 3 in there last inspection because of the city threatening to shut them down and they hired a crew of elves to come in and do there magic… maybe one of those Sookie Stackhouse fairies as well perhaps.

I began to wonder why in the hell did this place have a “Grade Pending” on its store front window when it clearly wasn’t making the grade at all. Everything was kind of confusing until I reread the PDF document. There is a part that I want to make EVERYONE aware of. Towards the bottom of the first page and the top of the second there is this:

“A restaurant has two chances to earn an A in every inspection cycle. If it doesn’t earn an A on the first inspection, it’s scored but ungraded. An inspector goes back to the restaurant unannounced, typically within a month, to inspect it again and the re-inspection is graded. If the grade is a B or C, the restaurant will receive a grade card and a grade pending card. It can post either card until it has an opportunity to be heard at the Office of Administrative Trials and Hearings Health Tribunal. 

Until a restaurant has a graded inspection, it is listed as Not Yet Graded on the Health

Department website”

I underlined the most important part. A place can either post the grade they had received OR a Grade Pending sign. Establishments, unless they are shut down, can hide their score from the public!!! Ain’t that some shit right there… I was ready to let Facebook, Foursquare, Google and anyone that could hear me from my soapbox about this place. That’s another reason to love the technology age. I started to comb the internet for some reviews and frankly there were very few expect for this one Yelps. Here is the screenshot:

Click on image to expand size.

A disclaimer though… While the place reviewed was actual ANOTHER Fortune Cookies restaurant in Bensonhurst, Dyker Heights area, the review mentioned a place called Chopsticks which is right down block and provides a better service than Fortune Cookie, so I knew that she might’ve made a mistake in placing the review there. I also felt that the first review was also talking about the Fortune Cookies restaurant as well, but I am not 100% sure about that.

After being sick for months and unable to stomach even the sight of food. It is disappointing that places like this exist and even shameful that people pack them without doing any research. A few minutes can avoid hours of throwing up or much worse. I suggest that everyone out there takes a moment (especially if you live in the New York area) to review some of the fast food places that you go into everyday. What you might learn may surprise you and save your life.

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] A Billion Broken Shards

I can’t believe it’s been 10 years already. You hear people say that all the time in an abstract way on how time pushes forward while they’re somewhat stuck looking at one still moment in time. In the craziness of the day I still remember every little thing that happen and the emotions that I was going through. Well the emotions that we were all going through in some form or another. I wrote this blog about 5 years ago in which I posted and reposted to several social networking site as each anniversary passed. After this year, I will retire it. As a part of growing and moving on, I need to work on moving passed EVERYTHING that happened that month. I was only 20 when this happen, just a kid that was barely out of high school and had no understanding of what the world was trying to offer me, but on this day 10 years ago all that changed and I was forced just like the rest of the country to walk with fear.

So here is my story about that day…

I was dreaming… I don’t remember what it was about but I knew I was dreaming until it happen. That damn phone call. It was 7:30 in the morning and let’s be honest WHO would want to receive a call that early. Rolling over I looked at the Caller ID and it was a familiar number. My co-worker Jerry Garcia that just started working at the same store in Queens as I did with my Best-friend as our boss.

            “Hey Kenny… Can you do me a huge favor, please… Tell Kobe that I can’t come in today because I can’t get anyone to drive me into the City and Queens… and that I will try to come in tomorrow if I could get a ride to pick up my check.”

            Pissed, I said, “You know that Kobe has a Cell phone, why the hell are you calling my ass for?”

            “Kenny come on can you do me this favor?” he whined.

            “Whatever, Jerry I will talk to you later” I said hanging up the phone. I tossed the covers aside, went into the kitchen made breakfast. My grandmother was in her usually seat in the Living room watching Walker Texas Ranger and she was hooting and hollering as Chuck Norris kicked some bad guys ass. Once I finished with breakfast I brushed my teeth and headed back into my room to lay back down.

The timer on the TV turned itself on and the WB11 morning news was staring back at me. Ironically they were doing the weather forecast and talked about how beautiful the day was going to be. But of course no one knew what was to come beside those that put it in action. In a flash I turned the television off and turned on Z100, hoping to hear some music that would put me in a better mood. It was 8:30, when I closed my eyes hoping that would at least get another 30 minutes of uninterrupted sleep before I had to get ready for work and be there on time at 11, but then the announcement came.

DJ Elvis Duran of the Z-morning Zoo broke into a song and announced that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center building a few minutes ago. I opened my eyes and grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. It was true. As I flip through every channel that had images of one of the World Trade Center buildings on fire.

            “Great…” I whispered. I just knew that nothing good was going to come from this.

It was just before 9am when I called my boss/best friend. He had just gotten into the store and from his voice he was nursing a hangover.

“Hey, Kobe” I said, somewhat extra cheerful.

“What happen?” he said automatically. After being best friends for so long he knew my moods.

“Well, I got a call from Jerry this morning and he wanted me to tell you that he wasn’t coming in today and –“… before I could say anything else he started screaming.

“THAT STUPID MOTHERFUC-“ Well you get the point he was pissed and swore up and down that Jerry’s ass was out and would be fired as soon as he finished his coffee. Just before I was about to hang up, I remember the plane crash. I took the remote from my grandmother, which she cursed at me about and turned it to network television.

“Kobe, have you seen the news yet?” I asked

“No… what’s up?” he answered.

“Well going home might be a problem for you because some plane crashed into the World Trade Center…”

“What!!!” he exclaimed.

He turned on the televisions in his store and he stared at the same images that I was staring at in my home. “Oh shit” he exclaimed. Flames and smoke were gushing out of the tall structure as the people below stood in shock.

“I wonder how something like-“ It felt like it was slow motion. Before I could complete my sentence we both saw the second plane crash into the World Trade Center and explode. The words: Oh my God…escaped my lips. It was at that point I knew there was much more to this than just being a coincidence.

“Kenny did you see that? Did you see that?” he said. I couldn’t speak as the second tower began to explode in fire and what seems like a billion broken shards of glass crashing to the ground below.

“Kobe I don’t believe it?” I finally said.

“But you saw it too, right?  You saw that plane hit the building right?”

“Yeah I did… I think I did…” I said confirming not only what Kobe saw but what I’ve seen as well. “Kobe I will call you back...” I said after a short pause.

My first thought was my mother. Was she at work or was she at the World Trade Center? I just need to make sure. Since she was looking for a new job and most of the people in her company were now employed at the World Trade. I grabbed the phone again and called my mother’s cell phone and to my shock, I heard it ringing in a pair of discard jeans on my bedroom floor. I had forgotten that I had used it that weekend and forgot to give it back to her. This day of all days, why did I do something stupid like that? I dialed her work number and all it did was ring and go to her voicemail. After the 7^th time I was in a panic.  She had to be alright… I kept telling myself and my grandmother was no help. She didn’t understand what was really happening or why I was stressing out the way I was.

“It’s nothing…” she kept saying to me in her deep southern drawl. “Your mama ain’t there she is at work”

But I knew better. As quickly as I could I grabbed some jeans and a shirt and raced out of the door leaving my grandmother no longer watching the broadcast but Walker, Texas Ranger.

Nothing worked. The trains were at a standstill and tempers at the train station were at its breaking point. No one knew anything and the token booth operator was at loss for words. I ran liked the wind to catch the B12 bus to take me across Brooklyn so I can at least find be closer to Downtown where I was praying my mother would be. The bus was crowded full of more people that were more confused than I was. The rumor mill was fluttering around that there more planes crashing and one crashed into a building in Washington D.C. The bus just passed Kings county hospital when some one said that one of the buildings collapsed. That was the first time I cried. Tears were streaming down my face, and a woman patted my back telling me that it was going to be okay. I couldn’t tell you what she looked like or how she sounded, I just remembered her patting my back and me saying something about needed my mother. When the bus finally made it to Flatbush Ave., I was one of the first ones out and rushed to the connected bus stop. At the B41 bus stop on Flatbush Ave. and Parkside Ave. I waited with another crowd of people looking to get into a cramped bused. The bus driver told everyone that there were no buses heading to downtown Brooklyn at that time. Men and women were cursing and screaming at each other, the bus driver and at the world. I couldn’t let this set back stop me. I started to run up Flatbush Ave. and towards Downtown. With my mother’s cell phone in hand I called her job again and received no answer.

As I passed the Prospect Park train station on the Q train I started to notice something.  There were no cars traveling around me anymore and the people coming towards me were not longer white or black… they were gray. Gray people. These Gray people were everywhere as I raced passed the infamous Prospect Park.

 As I reached Grand Army Plaza, I saw a female police officer and went up to her.

“Excuse me officer, is it true? Did a building collapsed?” I asked breathing hard from running and I feared that I would faint right there.

“I don’t know…” she said trying to direct people around. As I started again towards Downtown when the officer grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I got to find my mother” I said, trying to pull my arm away.

“It’s a mess down there, you will only be in the way…” she told me, but I didn’t listen or care about what she was trying to say to me. I had only one objective and that was my mother. And so I moved on. Rushing through the sea of gray people, I stopped at an electric store, where a friend of mine was working located on Atlantic Ave. and Flatbush Ave. The store was crowded with people hovering around the television and buying radios, batteries and other things. My friend Mathew took me into the backroom where I was trying to hold myself together. On the television in the back room I saw the last tower fall to the earth and people just started to cry and gasp. The Mayor was calling for those to leave lower Manhattan and I was scared out of my mind. I looked up at Mathew and he looked down at me and we were speechless.

His mind was on his wife and daughter and I was completely blank. I didn’t know what to do or say. Before I knew it I was out of the door and back on my journey. Downtown Brooklyn was a mad house full of people running from the imaginary boogeyman that was now in your lives. The Gray people were in numbers now, some bleeding, some crying but all covered in ash. As I made my way through the crowded Fulton Street Mall area in Downtown, Brooklyn I tried to close my mind to what was going on around me.

My mother was standing in front of her job. When I saw her, I couldn’t let her go. It was embarrassing to my mother because I just held her and kissed each of her cheeks over and over again right in front of her Boss. She smiled.

“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?” I asked my face flooded with tears.

“I wasn’t at my desk… we were at the window and saw the planes hit… so we got the hell out of the building. When I got a chance to call the house, your grandmother said that you were coming down here to get your MAMA!!!” she said laughing.

 I do not remember the way home or what we talked about, but I do remember that I held her hand all the way home. Over the next few days we found out that many of her friends and old co-workers died that morning in the may lay. I didn’t feel anything for the many died that morning at first; my main focus was my mother and she was with me. But as the images of the destruction started to be over played on national television displaying families, spouses and others calling for their missing love one that was surely dead, it made me wonder what was going to happen next. Even now I am still wondering what is next…

Kenny.

[My Life] Morning Blaze.

The sound of helicopters was the first clue that something was wrong. It took me awhile to finally get some sleep and once I began to drift, the roaring sounds of helicopter broke the silence of the room. At first I ignored it, thinking it was just the police doing some kind of search or sweep or SOMETHING and it should just go away in a few minutes. After 5 more minutes when the noise didn’t go away, but get more intense as if it was right overhead, I walked over to my bedroom window which looks Kings Highway. As the sky was preparing for the new morning, it painted a rose canvas for the helicopters to glided over gray streams of smoke. Shit, I muttered. What the hell is going on now? The sounds of emergency vehicles came next, followed by the image of number of police cars and ambulances moving recklessly through traffic. Looking over my cluttered desk for my cigarettes, I came to the realization that had none left. Cursing as I grabbed some jeans from off the floor, I was hoping that the deli where I got my cigarettes from at a discount (10 dollars a pack while others in the area charge around 12 dollars) was open even through it wasn’t 6 a.m. yet. Even as I sleepily moved around my bedroom for clothes, more and more sirens can be heard outside. Kimmiko, my cat made her way into my room

Within the span of 10 minutes from first hearing the helicopters, I was out the door. The moment the hit the street, the blistering cold gripped me. I zipped up my jacket even further in hopes that it would provide more warmth. As I turned onto my block from my building entrance way a oceans of red and white light stood before me just on the other side of Kings Highway. Cop cars and emergency vehicles blocked off the area from the growing traffic. Curiosity was getting the best of me. I wanted to know what was going on.  

Since the Deli was on my block, I went there first. Surprisingly there were several people in line already playing lottery numbers. First this woman, dressed in some sweats, thin jacket and hair wrap called off her numbers, that I nonchalantly mentally saved in my own mind for later, then this Crip, I knew growing up shouted his numbers to the Arabian behind the counter joking with him at the same time “An OG told me I should write my numbers down instead of saying them, nahmean…” he told him. The guy just nodded and gave a polite laugh. I paid no attention to the dialogue, wanting to get the hell out of there before he asked me for change again. As the Crip was getting himself together, going through the shelves for some goodies, the Arabian guy came over to me and I asked for the cigarettes and a large cup of coffee. “Light and sweet, 8 sugars” I told him. He gave double take, as if he has never heard me order coffee like this before even though I am there almost every other morning. “Are you sure?” he asked in a heavy accent. I just nodded. He turned to the coffee maker saying something in Arabic then turned back and handed me my cup. I thanked him and exited the store.

While the sky was bright and sunny, the area before was draped in fog. As I approached the scene, the smell caught me off guard. I am not a fan of fires, especially since my grandmother’s accident. Seeing someone you love ablaze, burns itself in your memories for a lifetime. Shortly after my grandmother’s accident, there was an explosion in the building across the street from my house. The smell of the explosion lingered for days and as I got closer the smell triggered old memories that really wanted me to turn back, but only a few feet away, I ignored those feelings those feeling and continued on.

There must’ve been over 100 Firefighters and at least 25 fire trucks in the front of the NYCHA apartment building. Ladders were still extended to the roof and smoke was making its way from the top floors. At a safe distance across the street, I watched as EMT workers looked after some fire fighters in an ambulance and others that had collapsed on the pavement. As I started to take some snap shots of the area with my camera phone, this guy starting talking the head off of anyone around telling them what happen and how he got photos of it all. Children in groups or with their parent started to make their way to the JHS and elementary school up the block, passing the depressing scene. Some stopped and watched, while other hurried along. A man with son stop next to me, and asked what happen. I told him there was a fire and he began to laugh. “Housing is going to finally get in trouble over those damn boilers” he said as he held his son hand “Finally going to find to put that shit in the building”. That is when I finally remembered this place. For the last 4 or 5 years, the boilers have been outside these building managed by the NYCHA and they received a lot of negative press about it (LINK) last year. When I used to make my daily walks to Canarsie to see my grandmother in the nursing home, I would pass by these monsters hoping that nothing would spill out on me.

Suddenly, my hand began to swell and my fingers started to turn a pinkish purple. That’s when I knew it was time to head back home to warm up. I stopped at the deli once more and got a second cup. The Arabian was sweet talking to a girl who had dressed similar to the woman I had seen when I came in the first time. She was giggling while holding on to a loosie he handed her as I walked in.

“You’re back so soon” He said.

“Yeah…” I answered slightly laughing. “I went to see what was going on down the street”

“Oh yeah the fire… Is it out?”

“Yeah… but it’s a big scene”

“Where is it?” The girl asked.

“Over by the NYCHA buildings a block up” I told her gesturing as if the builds were right in front of us.

            “Oh you mean, by the Castle?” she asked, with a horrid expression.

Now the “Castle” was part apartment complex, part halfway shelter, part drug den and exactly across the highway from the deli. Both the Arabian guy and I gave her side eye glance.

            “Not the building across the street, the one with the boilers outside.”

“OOOHHHH!!!” she said.

So I made my way back home, dodging the kids that were getting off their school bus and running into the Charter school on my block and other adults that were making their way to where they had to be today. As I turned the key into the lock of my apartment door, I thought that this was an interesting way to start the day.

Kenny.

[Government and Politics] Dear Mr. Bloomberg…

There is no doubt in my mine that you are going to win the New York City mayoral election occurring tomorrow, HOWEVER my vote will NOT be marked for you, Mr. Bloomberg. I don’t think you are a bad guy and if the circumstances were different maybe I would have a different reaction to your candidacy, but as of this moment I have to announce that I can not support you. So this election day, I will vote for Bill Thompson for Mayor. Do I think he is going to win? Hell no! You might come off with a bigger margin then the last election for several different reasons. The main one being that the Democrats haven’t nominated a decent candidate in years. Besides, you’ve been successfully painting the man every which way you can while trying to boost about your “accomplishments” in education and he has been unsuccessful at not only decelerating who he is and WHY he is better then you, but the direction New York City needs. After seeing the only two debates on NY1 and on ABC channel 7, those points I made earlier became very clear.

However I wanted to take a moment and explain why you are not getting my vote in the election tomorrow, as meaningless as it may seems. As of late last year, you have constantly blamed the national economy for the woes of the city. While it is true that the world was going to shit in a basket with massive layoffs and bailouts to companies that became to big to fail, the cost of living in New York City had gone up dramatically since you’ve been in office before that time. While it has never been cheap to live in this city, it really says something when you find yourself paying double or triple for necessities and rent. The New York sales tax went up to 8.8% (that was just this past summer, right after the fiasco in Albany), The MTA has raised the fare amount many times on unlimited rides and twice on the base fare as you stood by and did nothing (from $1.50 to $2.25). What happen to the reform of the MTA that you had promised on the campaign trail twice before? The only proposal you have put out there has been the congestive pricing plan (which failed thankfully) to further tax people here in the city. I guess we all have to do our part right? The MTA received a bail out and do whatever they want and new Yorkers get to flip the bill. Whenever the topic is brought up concerning the MTA , you nonchalantly dismiss the asker as some kind of a nuisance. You have a habit of doing that, Mr. Bloomberg and it is very disrespectful.

By the way, Mr. Bloomberg, Downtown Brooklyn is slowly disappearing. I don’t know if you know this or if this is a part of the master plan started by Dinkins and his administration to continue the removal of the middle class from the city of New York. The once focal point of Fulton Street, Albee Mall has been torn down to make way for more and more condos that 80% of the people cannot afford. Why? Because you and your flunkies in the city council have pushed emanate domain to further displace New Yorkers living around the Atlantic rail yards, since that is the site for the future home of the Net’s Stadium. A stadium that was a part of your unsuccessfully bid to win the summer Olympics for 2012.

As you lead your war against tobacco smoking (which I understand, but do not like, because of health concerns), by making the price of a pack of smokes raise from 4 -5 dollars a pack to, in some places 11 – 12 dollars a pack… not once have I seen you go after alcohol or any other product that might have adverse affects to one’s health with that same gusto. It’s like I can’t have a drink at the bar or club and smoke at the same time plus I have to take out a personal loan for pack, but can get a beer for 99 cents and get into a car. What kind of sense does that make?

Honestly, I do not think you know the feeling of what it like to live in a place where you have to struggle with the Landlord for heat during the long winter months. I wonder if you know what it feels like to know that any day you will have to mange without electricity because you had to pay other bills instead of Con Ed that month. As I see from many Youtube clips, you like to ride mass transit, but do you have any idea what it is like to feel the pinch when the MTA ups the fare and trying to come up with the money to pay for your only means of transportation to support yourself AND everything else. Yes, there is no doubt in my mind that you are out of touch with many of the citizens of this city.

However my main concern was this…

You see, right after 9/11 when the whole country was going gaga over Rudy Giuliani and calling him “America’s Mayor” for some strange reason during the last few weeks of him term, there was mention of extending his term beyond the limit. The reason why I voted for you was because you were probably the only person that said NO WAY! That the citizens of this state voted for term limits and it would be up the next mayor to continue the job. That was why I voted for you, Mr. Bloomberg. I thought you understood that term limits was something voted by the people of this city. For weeks you were on the stomping ground trying to pump life into the idea that YOU were the only one that could get this city through it’s finical woes. You however took it upon yourself to go through the city council and had it overturned. What backroom deals did you make to get that done, Mr. Bloomberg? Plus you have the absolute GAUL to belittle, name call and dismiss those that question your motives. When one day you give speeches about how dire the city’s economy was and yours is the only leadership the city needs to get past it… then turn around and give another speech about it was on the rebound, do you not expect people to question ONCE AGAIN your reasoning behind a third term?

This little blog will mostly not matter because you are the status quo. It is better the have the devil you know then the one you don’t right. On election night, while you are celebrating your third tern as mayor, I will seek comfort in the fact that I’ve made the right choice in who I voted for.

You have bought this election, Mr. Bloomberg. I hope it was worth it…

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] Blackout

Think back for a second and try to remember where you were 6 years ago today. Most likely if you lived in the north east section of the United States or in some parts of Canada you would’ve been in darkness. A total and complete Blackout.

Picture it!

New York City.

The Date is August 14.
The year is 2003.

It was one of the hottest and humid days of the summer when all of a sudden, just after 4 in the afternoon the day long power outage began. Lucky for me, I just got home from work and began to work on my novel. My mother was out grocery shopping and my grandmother was in the living room with her friend, talking as they watched Judge Judy. Out of no where, everything thing around just shut down. My first thought was: “Oh crap, did I pay the bill”. It took me a second to locate the receipt in a draw and exhale a sigh of relief.

So I was really puzzled on what was going on, now. I ventured out to the living room where my grandmother asked me what I did to turn the TV off. Just like my room, the whole apartment was without power. I told both of the ladies that I was going to find the Super, in which my grandmother told me NOT to because she didn’t want any trouble. For some reason she thought we would get in trouble and get kicked out of RENT CONTROLLED apartment if we complained or asked for help. I really didn’t want to spend the time to explain so I just left. In the hallway a young girl was braiding some boys’ hair and inquired if the power went out in their apartment. She told me yes nonchalantly, as if it something like this happen everyday. Through the stairway window, I could see the 3 train was stuck on the elevated tracks behind my building. The traffic lights and store around were completely dark inside. Cars were cautiously moving to and fro. People were stumbling around in the state of confusion. I walked one floor down where a crowd of people had collected talking about the outage. Many thought this was another ploy by the new landlord, but after informing them that everything was dark outside as well, many started to take out radios from their apartments. After a few minutes of hearing what we all knew, everyone pulled out there cell phones and started making calls since they all said that there home phones (all cordless) were no longer working.

By this time, my mother was making her way up the stair drenched with sweat and carrying the empty shopping cart and I informed her of the situation and after some choice words, she joined the conversation, briefly. We went back into the apartment where I went into my room and pulled out a box buried in my closet. It contained an old corded phone that worked just perfectly. Funny, how everyone in this digital age forget the benefits of a corded phone.

After making a few phone calls, my mother and I rambled around the house to see what supplies we had. It’s funny when you realize how unprepared you are for an emergency when it actually happens. Our family had two little battery operated portable televisions, a container of matches, about 6 flashlights and there were no batteries or candles in the entire house. I couldn’t believe it at all. This presented a minor dilemma. We would have to go out and get as much as we could before people lost there damn minds and did something stupid. It was too late for that. When we went outside cops cars raced pasted our building like a bolt of lightening.

Great. I wasn’t even a thought during the 1977 blackout, but I was going to witness it reincarnate itself in 2003.

Most of the stores on Rutland Road, which is the little shopping strip in my neighborhood, were closing or would not allow anyone in expect for one store right next to the Sutter Ave./Rutland Road 3 train station. It was a small little discount store that people were starting to gather around. Thankfully we managed to get inside within a few minutes. The store was total dark besides that light coming from the outside. One of the employees stood in middle of an aisle, blocking so no one could further back into the store. We scooped up as many batteries as we could, but the small space was no match to the massive amount of people trying to get in.

A guy started, about 18 – 20, started to push pass the employee. The employee pushed back and all of a sudden the store erupted in chaos. It was a blur really, much of it went by so quickly that I moved on instinct. The guy and his friends started a fight that spilled outside of the store. In retaliation that started to throw whatever was in front of the store at anything that moved. A woman and her child were in the middle. I pushed my mother to the side and grabbed the baby carriage to move it out of the way. The child’s mother was screaming hysterically and asking why. When the coast was clear we ran out of the store, breathing a sigh of relief. As we walked the child’s mother kept screaming, yelling and saying: “Why are you people like this!” I placed my hand on her shoulder and told her sternly that she needed to take her and her child home as fast as she could. I don’t know is she realized that even through I could tell she was a fair skinned Spanish woman, she looked Caucasian in a neighborhood that mostly African-American or Caribbean.

For the rest of the afternoon, the family sat around the televisions hearing the updates as they came, watching the interviews with people as they walked around in the blazing sun and saw the Mayor lie about how everything was okay. After the sun went down, my neighborhood fell into total darkness. There was this eerie silence through out the streets only disturbed by the occasional car or pedestrian. By candle light I wrote in my journal, documenting the events of the day and thinking for cool things to combat the humidity.

On the morning of the 15th, the streets were once again deserted, but as time went on, some stores would open while others were completely shut down. Grocery stores that had there own generator limited the amount of people enter while others only sold perishables like milk and meat. Once the power was restored later that afternoon, people wanted to examine the causes. Was it Con Ed? Terrorism? Sponge Bob Square Pants? But like all things in this world everything started to go on as if nothing had happen. The aftermath of Blackout 2003 was seen in neighborhoods like Flatbush for months afterwards. Several stores were broken into, looted, and in one case a sneaker store was burn down, but you didn’t hear about it on the news. The Mayor constantly talked about how nothing went wrong besides little pockets.

Yeah right…

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] Welcome to the Neighborhood… NOW GET OUT!

Hmmm… Do you ever wonder what kind of person is living next door to you? Or maybe down the block? How about around the corner? At the beginning of last summer, a new neighbor moved next door to me. She was quiet older woman for the most part, but her kids or grandkids were always in and out of the house. About three weeks after they moved in, one of her grandkids got into a fist fight with some “Gangsta”, that do not live in the building might I add, right in front of my door. I mean there was blood, juice and whatever else one my door, a neighbors door, the floor and their door. It was a mess that a neighbor and I cleaned up. Shortly after, people would ring our bell door at all hours of the day and night, mistaken it for theirs. One time I was gearing up to go the laundry at about 4 in the morning (I can’t stand being around those bad ass kids when I am washing clothes) and when I opened the door, I woman was standing there knocking next door wonder who I was! Ain’t that something? While I locked my door, their door open and she speedily ran in. While I waited for the elevator she was making her way towards me, it had to have been less than a minute since the door opened and now.

I will never forget what happened the next day. It was on a Saturday day morning during the first heat wave when I awoke to a loud banging on my door. It was so loud that it woke the whole house. I grabbed a robe and went to the front door and looked through the peephole to see two white men standing there. Surprised, I went into the kitchen to grab a knife (you never know what people are capable of these days) and went back to the door cautiously looking through the peephole once again. At this time they were not in front of my door but next door with one of the men violently kicking at the door. I opened my door and instantaneously they apologized for the noise and showed me the police badges around their necks. I didn’t say a thing. I just closed the door and informed my mother what was going on. The banging continued for about another 15 to 20 minutes until the door finally gave way. After that morning, I have not heard a peep from them. I already concluded that some one in the house was dealing drugs, but the kicker really was that they were doing it right next door.

But there are worst things to have next door to you than a drug dealer.

Above is a map of the neighborhood I lived in. Nothing special about it really, expect for the different color dots that indicate the homes and workplaces of different types of people convicted of some sort of sexual crime (i.e. rape, child molestation, etc…). Here is link to find those in your neighborhood:National Sex Offender Registry When I think of all the kids that run up and down this block, sometimes wearing grown folks clothes, I see how easy they can get picked up. Hey, I understand they did the time for their crimes and need to live somewhere in order to resume some sort of normalcy, but why near me? Yeah, I have a touch of “N.I.M.B.Y.” (Not in my backyard) when it comes to this.

Besides it didn’t surprise me one bit that our local government or whomever would dump these types of people in urban areas like Flatbush, Bedstuy andHarlem. Would they place them in Park Slope, Cobble Hills or and other community where the majority of the residents were Caucasian? Don’t think so… They would be drummed out in no time.

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] The New York City Subway Journey.

I hate the morning rush. It’s full of crowded trains, rude people and constant delays. I really do not understand how I used to do it when I was going to high school back in the day. I remember the time where I was rushing to school on the 3 train and as I entered the Utica Avenue train station, I was surprised how half of the express 4 train was half empty. As I rush to get a seat, the smell of feces and all other kinds of funk hit me right in the face. Man, I was faced with the dilemma of getting a sit and having to deal with smell, or going into another train car and standing all the way. So, I pretty much covered my nose as I sat on the far edge of the car. The things people have to do to get a seat, I tell you what…

As I reentered the education force, waking up at the butt crack of dawn to lugging around a bag of books everywhere, I had relearn how to deal with people. The first week of school was the worst. Every morning and afternoon there was some nut walking back and forth talking about some jargon that I didn’t want to hear. Lucky for me that I had my Mp3 player to drown out the noise, except for that one time where I had to curse this woman out! While going from point A to point B can be a nightmare in itself, some many people are just plain rude for no reason at all.

With rumor of more increases in fares, I wonder when they are going to use some of that money to make the morning journey more pleasurable.

Kenny.

[Lifestyles] Non-Ghetto Boy Brooklyn Blues…

I live here in the Borough of Brooklyn, well the East Flatbush/Brownsville area to be precise. This neighborhood has a vast cultural mixture of people from the Caribbean and other parts of the world. Every Labor Day I would stand in front of my building and watch the people with their scantily clad costumes walking to Lincoln Terrace Park for the end of the Labor Day Parade. When I was a little kid, I used to sit in my grandmother’s chair right next to the window and stare out of it for hours on end. Outside that window I would watch the world go by. I used to watch the 3 train go back and forth along the elevated train tracks while cars would drive in and out of the Keyfood parking lot below with shoppers going to and fro. I remember going to the parking lot of the Banko Popular bank on my block and playing with my friends the whole day. We would climb the thorny trees, play tag or steal the bacon and sometimes, as lame as it might sound, build forts and play war. Now, that building has been torn down and the parking lot I once played in, had there trees uprooted, paved and replaced with an array of ugly discount furniture stores.

Outside that same window today, all I see is change…

New buildings are being built where dilapidated dwellings once stood. Corporations are moving there stores in to create new shopping strips and forcing mom and pop shops out of places they occupied for decades. These are the changes in the growing effort to renew NYC’s urban areas that I’ve learned to deal with. While these changes have brought back to life a once deserted area, I wonder what price will have to be paid in the long run.

Different types of people are moving in and out of my neighborhood on a regular basis. In my building, it’s been some sort of revolving door. Some are middle class families trying to make a better life for themselves and others are just people who are have no other place to go and it reflects on how poorly they treat the building itself. I’ve come to realize that no matter what changes happen around some people it will not affected those still locked in that ghetto mentality. They are the ones who have become addicted to the allure of the street life glorified by movies, music videos and other forms of media, which depicts young people of color as gangsters, harlots and people of lower class. Hearing children in this day and age, use the “N” word like its water and seeing them announce that they are gangster while wearing clothes that are two sizes to big and calling women atrocious names is appalling.

There was a point where I wanted to fit in, but I quickly realized that I couldn’t. As a teenager I saw people who looked like me, shared a similar culture as I did, but our idealism were completely different. Once I cleared myself of that ghetto frame of mind there is no turning back. I’ve learned that there is more to life then my block or this neighborhood, while other chose to live and die on these streets. Many times I wonder how I fit into all this madness around me. I was not a thug and had no plans on being one. I was not didn’t want a house full of half naked woman, even though it is the most preferred trophy to have according the some forms of urban media. I wasn’t a gang banger whose life mission is to fights over “turf” that I did not own. Reasons why a person would “rep” a block or a housing project that they have no ownership over is beyond me. The interesting part is that the faces of the people who live in my neighborhood, do not reflect to people that own the properties. Interlopers… Yes interlopers, who live in high-end areas of Brooklyn (like Borough Park or Brighton Beach), buy up the quote on quote ghetto properties at dirty cheap prices, thanks to people behaving like free ranged lab rats, scurrying around the streets doing as much damaged as they can in the littlest amount of time. Those same interlopers then will raise the rent to astronomical amounts in order to push people who have been living in those places for years and years out to make those places condos and co-ops. At the end of the day, they are making finical decisions and do not have to care what happens to the buildings as long as they get the rent. Over the years my building has been a place where everyone looked for everyone to a place where everyone is in fear of the next door neighbor. Why? It started with the raise in violence from gangs. Every night I would hear a barrage of gun shots and almost no sirens.

Maybe it’s the sign of our times.

We thin out our own numbers with drugs, sex and violence to help other people get richer. This destructive path that our people seem to be gleefully skipping down without a care in the world has become the norm. When did this happen? I really don’t know when the gangs started to take over the streets of Brooklyn or when this “Thug, get money by killing your own” was the major influence. I hope those same people can find comfort in the street they represent or the bling on their neck when they see that there is nothing out there for them… except free room and board at Rikers University.

Kenny.