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a godsend, except when it's not

newspapers fold, but journalists live on

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paterson aide--hatchet job or not?

HELP

UGHH..I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO PUSH PIN OUR ARTICLE ONTO THE MAP. I don't remember what Laura said. HELP?!

Please and Thank You,
aShLeY

A World Away, Under the J

> A mere walk from the comfort of their coffee shops, art galleries and natural food stores the young, "hip" residents of East Willamsburg, Brooklyn are greeted with a different environment. Under the J train, on Broadway in Brooklyn, is a world that is very different than the world these young creative types are used to. Here, the coffee is not fair trade and the food is not organic, there are not a handful of twenty-somethings on the corner,but rather a mother and her three children, and the sunlight does not beam through large loft windows. The two worlds are colliding into one another, yet the inhabitants do not mingle. One East Williamsburg resident said, " Most of the hipsters I know only go to Broadway to get cheap cigarettes."

Broadway is on the border of Community District 3, which is composed primarily of the area
known as Bed-Stuy. The area is mostly made up of low income families(30% living in poverty vs. 19% for the city as a whole) of African-American background( 80% of population vs. 25% of city as a whole). The rate of high school dropouts(42% vs. 32%) and pregnant teens(13% vs. 8.6%) are also higher than average New York City standards. There are often illegal vendors in the area, selling pirated films or conducting games of "cup and ball" for money. The train passes by over head, disrupting any peace and quiet the neighborhood might experience.

The question that lies in the future for Bed-Stuy is whether it will see the same sort of gentrification Willamsburg and, more recently, Bushwick, have seen. Already, there are two music venues, an art space and Brooklyn's version of Beauty Bar along Broadway. The strip is ideal for up and coming artist collectives because of the inexpensive rent in the area. The difference can be seen in the eight minute walk between East Willamsburg and Bed-Stuy; the lines are still there but they are beginning to get a bit fuzzy.


Map graphic from http://www.nyc.gov/html/dcp/gif/neigh_info/bk03.gif
All photos by Remi Gurak
Statistical information from http://www.cb3bedstuy.org/maps.htm

A View From the End of the Line: An Imperial Impression of Faraway Rockaway

The bus takes about two hours to arrive at the Port Authority from Mount Pocono. On a normal morning the bus is full, and we arrive on time. Today we arrive ten minutes early. It’s Presidents’ Day and I’m weary and disoriented as the classical music stirs through the mid morning throng. I waver about getting food before deciding to reward myself when I arrive at the end of the blue line. Today I’m taking the downtown A train to see what is at the end of the line in Faraway Rockaway. I aim to compare the terrain to fever dreams I used to have of outlying New York transmuting into dirt road suburbs, secret territories sectioned off by drawbridges and steam trains and unnamed beaches.

On the subway map the Rockaway Peninsula evokes an impossible distance (that is, unless you live there). The distance of Far Rockaway from anything I was familiar with incidentally gave away to new agendas. I would spend the whole day commuting by bus, train, foot and reverse. I would stretch my borders as a one man transit authority. However, there was also the curious challenge of what to do once there at Far Rockaway.

The A train is mostly empty by 10:30 am. I take a seat by the window and monitor the etiquette of my fellow passengers. Dropped gloves and other fallen articles are given back to their owners by an instinctive kindness of strangers. Two girls with pretty brown skin talk comfortably about the much ado about boys in their lives. One girl departs at Broadway Junction while the other stays for the remainder, plugging her ears with small, white buds. I sip my orange flavored vial of liquid energy. Staring into the darkness of the A train caverns, I feel the liquid burn inside my arms and legs leaving a remote euphoria as I consider the pleasure of going to unknown places just to go. I take pleasure at being a discreet, unknowable probe in places poised to dust away my foot prints as if I never happened. The pleasure in this foray is the politest kind of voyeurism. I will not know intimately the details of any one person’s life in Faraway Rockaway. But I will know how blue the beach water looks against the coast colored a hue of bone from the snow and the metal rails on the boardwalk void of pedestrians.

The train emerges from the ground after the Grant Av. stop in Queens. Suburbs caked in snow leave little to the imagination. Passing baseball diamonds and playgrounds are rendered sheets of white sometimes interrupted by thick grey strips of highway cramped with cars made dull by the winter sun’s lunch hour blight. The passing landscape is nothing extraordinary yet freshened by its freshness to the novice. I’m hopping from side to side of the subway car taking pictures, feeling soothed by the fake shudder sound as I capture nondescript images of snow covered New York suburbs. I thrill when the train passes over water, and then shudder at the dark musing of a drowned subway train in the narrow, freezing bay. My mind wanders back to the half crumpled docks connected to withered, paint-chipped homes. I eye the big white planes drifting sullenly into JFK like origami swans scrolling through stray, blue afterthoughts of sky. The air feels heavy and dull as the train closes in on its next and last stop—Mott Ave.

The pedestrian traffic around the subway station is pleasant and bubbly despite the looming drabness of project housing a few blocks east. Children lag about in front of grocery stores. Police officers patrol the corners, give high fives to kids, and make little fuss at midday. I pass the mainstay businesses of low income neighborhoods—Chinese food to-go, USA fried chicken, Laundromats with racing arcade games and crane machines.

I walk to the beach to catch the blue/gray winter view. The water is a rich azure dotted by land and sea with seagulls cluttered in their own packed clubs. A summer food stand is smashed in and covered with graffiti close to where one project begins. The two men loitering there make me nervous, and I avoid aiming my camera at them.

I eat lunch at the Corner Donut Shop in front of the subway station. The waitress is a curvy Hispanic girl who will ask familiar customers about their kids and mention her own. She will speak Spanish to all the Spanish-speaking customers. I order a bacon cheeseburger deluxe and strawberry milkshake. The food is good, but I regret eating so much. I feel like I’m going to die when I get back on the train. I fall asleep against the window in a dazed vertigo from the hour and a half trek back to Manhattan. I look at the skyscrapers from the train before returning to the underground. I think about the unwalkable distance in between the two worlds and how this disparity travels further than mere distance. I feel sick. I don’t know what I’ll say to you. I don’t know what I’ll say I saw, or if you’ll believe me when I do.

REMI--CAN YOU RE- RE-POST?

Because this doesn't seem to be working. Still can't see your post, and I'm afraid you cut off top of Ashley's. Maybe ask Laura to help you sort it out, she's this week's technician.

Rob

Food-Carts

Ever wonder what’s really inside these food-carts that New Yorkers are so fond of?

“With the chaos and rush hours of a long work day in the city, these food cart vendors are not only close and convenient but their food isn’t that bad,” says Marian Whitney resident of New Jersey but works in Manhattan.

Department of Health and Mental Hygiene issues as many as 3,100 licenses for mobile food units. I’ve always subconsciously wondered how the vendors are actually reviewed or if they’re even inspected. I’ve only recently discovered that my subliminal desire emerged and transformed into this intense yearning to find out due to an unfortunate incident. It wasn’t a week ago that my purchase for Chicken over Rice at a food-cart was regurgitated within two hours of my digesting it. My research has confirmed that I am not the only one who’s experienced such a disturbance as this. Apparently 10 out of the 10 people I’ve surveyed has suffered and experienced the same occurrence as I, from the result of naively believing these food-vendors serve anything remotely edible.

In my attempt to investigate and collect some sort of incriminating evidence against these soiled repulsive food-carts, I came in contact with a Manhattan vendor who disclosed information that would definitely warrant an arrest. Q: “Can you divulge the process of inspection if any?” A: “The usual inspections happen when we renew our permits, but now the renewals can be handled through the mail now. This makes it much easier to get away with.” This exclusive only substantiates my original notion that these vendors are a health hazard. What are they really serving us? I wonder.

Spanish Harlem

Toward the end of April 2009, two of my friends and I found an apartment in Spanish Harlem. Though it was not the safest neighborhood, it had gotten a lot safer, we were close to the train, and we could afford it. About 9 months later, Saturday, February 13, walking back to my apartment from Duane Read I narrowly avoided stepping in something red in the snow. A small splash of something--nothing that would be that strange without the addition of a police line surrounding the stoop of a building on 115th st. Turning the corner onto Lexington, I saw this:





At the bottom of the stairs was a puddle of blood. There were a few cop cars around, but they weren't questioning anyone, they weren't doing any of the stereotypical th cop things that I would hope for when someone has lost a good deal of blood less than 100 feet from my front door. The police line that forced anyone on the sidewalk to trudge through a snowbank and onto the street to get around seemed to be the biggest concern for most people in the area. As there was no one gawking at the scene of the crime, nor any police officer outside their car, I went to the internet to find out what had happened.
The internet failed. However, it did lead me to a news story about Adam Gonzalez, a 28 year old man who had been found with a steak knife in his chest Sunday, February 7, 2 blocks from this new crime. But even a week later, I was only able to find it mentioned in three online articles, one at DNAinfo.com, a site that covers local news in Manhattan, one at New York Daily News, and one on the Village Voice blog. His death was reported on the New York Times Homicide Map, but there was no other mention. The sites did not even agree on the details "Gonzalez, 28, was walking home early Saturday" comes from the New York Daily News. DNAinfo disagreed, even though it linked to the Daily post article. It said "Gonzalez . . . was found dead . . . Sunday morning at 6:30 a.m." The Village Voice blog said it was Sunday morning. At least all three agree on his name, Adan. But the New York Times Homicide map says that it was Adam.
Just last year, a man was stabbed in front of the post office at 34th st. and 8th Avenue. That was reported within an hour of happening. It was during the day, around many people, which makes a difference, but the main difference was location. In East Harlem, you're expected to be randomly killed, Midtown, you are not. Police lines and blood in Times Square? It would make national news. But if it happens in East Harlem, not a peep.

Condos for Convicts

Photo via BushwickBK




A luxury condo in Bushwick, Brooklyn is being converted into a halfway house, according to the Times Newsweekly. All eight units in the building on the corner of Willoughby and Evergreen Avenues have remained unsold since going on the market in 2007, and rather than renting the units, the building's owners have reportedly made a deal to operate it as a halfway house. Community members are up-in-arms at the announcement.

The building, designed by Scarano Architects, had units listed for more than $600,000, which would be abnormally expensive even for other parts of Bushwick, and this location in particular is near known drug spots as well as a daycare center, according to local resident Evette Villafane.

Villafane said at a recent community council meeting that the conversion started to happen without the community's knowledge. District Manager for Community Board 4 Nadine Whitted also said at the meeting that while the halfway house is not necessarily unwelcome, there needs to be an effort on the part of its operators, an organization known as the Gelzer foundation.

Is is unclear from the Times Newsweekly story whether the building is already serving as a halfway house and what modifications, if any, will be made. It is possible that anti-gentrification advocates may claim this as a victory for affordable housing. The story also does not explain how the money from the city to operate a halfway house could possibly be greater than renting the units.

The situation is well-summarized by commenter Matt on the blog Bushwick BK: "everyone needs a place to go, but recovering addicts in a posh condo on a weird corner with drug activity still in the area?" he wrote. "This aughta be interesting."

John Cale Brings Wales to MoMA

Photo:"John Cale" by DJ Buck on Flickr courtesy of Creative Commons Licensing

John Cale made an appearance at MoMA this Monday after postponing a few months ago because of a stair climbing injury. Cale, a classically trained musician from Wales, made his name as a member of Andy Warhol's avant-guard rock group The Velvet Underground in the late 60's. He went on to produce albums by The Stooges, The Modern Lovers and Patti Smith in the 70s and had a strong career as a solo musician and composer. His talk at the museum, part of their Modern Mondays film screenings, did not center on music, but rather his latest venture--the visual arts.

The evening began with a clip of old game show "I've Got A Secret", which featured Cale as guest star "Mr. X". His Secret was that he has played a concert that lasted over 18 hours. This clip was received by laughs from the crowd, and showed a side of Cale before his Velvet Underground days. As the night went on we would learn more of his backstory, more of his life before his New York roots.

John Cale walked out from a door at the side of the theater, dressed in a polo and jeans, resembling a man very different from the one in the images of his youth. He jumped right into talking about the instillation he made for the Venice Biennal, which focused on his Welsh upbringing. The talk was confusing; the audience had not experienced the work he was speaking about. He began talking about listening to a house, his hobby of stair climbing and his childhood spend exploring the Black Mountains in Wales.

There were photographs to go along with his words but everything seemed disconnected. One minute he was speaking about his childhood and the next he was commenting on the orange beanie he wore while mountain climbing in his film." All you could see was that orange beanie" he said when talking about a particular scene. He eventually played some of the music he made for the installation. The music was filled with drone noise and lyrics about a home; his childhood home was one of the focuses of the piece. Climbing in the mountains of Wales was also a main point in the final installation. All together the work was shown on five screens, with five different films playing to different soundtracks.

Through speaking about his newest creative venture, Cale gave the audience an insight into his early life in Wales. He spoke of his resentment towards his grandmother, who forced him to speak Welsh even though his father spoke English. This meant he could not communicate with his father until learning English in school at age 7. He recalled a time his Mother was in hospital and he could only wave at her through a barbed wire fence. It seemed that his feelings toward his upbringing were mixed; he is proud of his country yet is haunted by his past.

While his talk was confusing and non-liner it was a different view into an artist's mind. Cale attempted to do something that seems impossible; he attempted to describe to an audience the process of creating a work they had never seen and through that, attempted to create a visual and audio image in the minds of those listening. " There are five screens so you are viewing like this," he said while moving around in a circle sporadically. " which is how I am in conversation," he continued, " I get up and move around." His thought patterns seemed to be moving around in confused circles, jumping from one point to another, but he was still able to convey the spirit of the work.

John Cale's talk would have been more coherent had the work been shown beforehand(there are currently no plans for the installation to come to America), but it served as a look into the way he thinks as an artist. Cale was able to bring Wales into that auditorium; he brought the images of the mountains, the droning sounds of a Welsh choir, and the ghosts that haunt his past out last night. His work is about place and experience, about where you came from and what of that place is still with you; this work speaks of John Cale's past in a way that everyone can relate, which makes it all the more chilling.

Photo From John Cale's Myspace Page http://www.myspace.com/johncaleofficialsite

The Guggenheim celebrates its 50th Anniversary with Tino Sehgal's creations

Entering the Guggenheim on Persident's Day there were dozens of people walking and talking along the rotundas devoid of any paintings, installations, sculptures, or photographs. Museumgoers were engaging not with traditional art, but with conversation, which also allows for people to appreciate Frank Lloyd Wright's innovative structure. In Tino Sehgal's "This Progress" different performers, or “interpreters,“ approach people with questions and thoughts as they walk up the rotundas. Although it sounds kind of odd, the performers have been trained to make these short and thought-provoking conversations seamless. As my friends and I ascended the ramp, a young girl looks on and then approaches and says, “Can I ask you question?”

Tatiana, 11, cheerfully asks, “What is progress?” Catching us by storm, one of us comes up with a general answer. As Tatiana skips along the empty museum she asks for example after example. As we walk thinking and scrambling for answers, we are approached by a young man, Jake. Tatiana greets him and says, “I was told that progress is a gradual change. Like when a seed becomes a flower and when a person matures.”

Jake flows with this idea of maturity and engages us with an anecdote of how he enjoys doing things that please his inner 6-year-old. He doesn’t allow for the three of us to merely listen, he steers the conversation so there's a flow and ease as we walk. As we are approaching a conclusion that there has to be a balance between following basic norms and cultivating individuality, a man in his forties introduces a blog in which individuals advocate and propose laws. Jake slowly drifts away and our new "interpreter" asks how we would go about making an active change. And as our conversation continues he allows us to pause and think, to babble, and to share our understandings. We are than approached by Barabara, an older woman, who talks about her creative granddaughter and limiting son. Barbara engages us with funny stories that highlight her granddaughter’s imagination and smoothly transitions the conversation to our own habits and contemplations on the molding of people.

Then almost unfortunately she informed us that there was an exhibit to the right and coolly said, “This is Tino Sehgal’s ‘This Progress.’” We didn’t rush to see the exhibit instead we looked over the top to see how the slow-motion, embracing couple on the floor were holding up. Another creation piece by the German artist, Sehgal named the “The Kiss.”

They roll and stand, kiss and cuddle, touch and feel in an empty space surrounded by those who watch and those who ignore. “I thought they were a random couple,” says Omari Thompson, 20, “usually they’ll be a placard or something to explain.” He felt having them there was odd yet bedazzling.

Carl Muller, an employee of the Guggenheim for the past 15 years, explained that there are three pairs every three hours. “People are allowed to go as close to the performers as they want,” Muller explains, “as long as they don’t interfere.” He also mentions that “This Kiss” is on loan from MoMa and they have to follow strict regulations for it not to be documented. Danielle Stein, reported for W magazine that Sehgal has "about five legal stipulations of the purchase: that the work be installed only by someone whom Seh­gal himself has authorized via training and prior collaboration; that the people enacting the piece be paid an agreed-upon minimum; that the work be shown over a minimum period of six weeks (in order to avoid seeming more like a theatrical event than an art exhibition); that the piece not be photographed; and that if the buyer resells the work, he does so with this same oral contract." Muller tries to enforce the restrictions as much as he can throughout the museum, but it was obvious that everybody was sneakily angling their camera phones towards the center of the ground floor. This does not change Sehgal's main intention, which is for participants to leave with a dynamic experience that is irreproducible.

“Contemplating the Void” is an exhibit that showcases the 250 submissions from artists around the world on ideas of how to commemorate the 50^th anniversary of the museum. They chose to empty the rotundas for the first time, which brings significance to the museum itself. Instead of going through the Guggenheim with a mental checklist it has people engage and recognize the magnificent space. This exhibit showcases that although the spiraling rotundas may be void materialistically it has the power with the guidance of Sehgal's work to captivate.

Tino Sehgal at the Guggenheim till March 10^th.

*Photos (Guggenheim skylight and Tino Sehgal) : Creative Commons

Assessing The Access-A-Ride Program

So much energy is needed to take full advantage of the way the public transit system is set up in New York, but for handicapped and immobile New Yorkers, it requires a little too much energy. Since public transportation in New York City is so inaccessible for disabled people, riders have opted to use the state funded Access-A-Ride, a program which picks up handicapped riders from a specific location and drops them off at their destination. It is an ideal situation for any one wishing to get from simply point A to point B, but with more exhaustion than any cross-borough subway ride with several transfers.

Though it is the best next option disabled New Yorkers have, it only barely meets the minimum needs of its users. Jean Ryan, 65, is a disabilities rights activist hailing from Brooklyn who has been using the Access-A-Ride for over ten years. During those ten years, she has been battling the program to see improvements in the what she sees as a faulty and often unkind system.

The difficulties of dealing with the system begin at step one. To be granted access to Access-A-Ride, prospective users must apply and then be assessed by a doctor so that they may be approved for the program, to which there is a 21 day estimated waiting period. The fare each way is the same as any regular subway or bus ride, but each trip must be arranged. There is several criteria needed in order to assure a ride: between 7 a.m. and 5 p.m., a call must be placed, giving the user's AAR identifcation number, the date of pick-up, the place and time of pick-up, the destination, and any other special needs. This call must be placed one to two days in advance to assure the ride will come.

The MTA website has multiple requirements for the day of pick-up. Because the Access-A-Ride program is run through several independent bus companies, there is no set routine guaranteed for riders, and each pick-up that occurs is not always successful because of the many variations. On the MTA website is the following criteria for pick-up:

• "Always wait where the driver can see you.
• Be ready to travel at your scheduled pick-up time and be prepared to wait up to 30 minutes after that time.
• Drivers who arrive within a 30-minute waiting period are considered on time.
• The driver must wait for you for 5 minutes from the time the vehicle arrives during or past the 30-minute waiting period.
• If you miss your ride at the start of a trip, but manage to reach your destination, call
  the Command Center to confirm your return ride.
• Make your reservation one to two days in advance."
  

(http://www.nyc.gov/html/mopd/html/resources/trans_aar.shtml)


More often than not, however, these companies are no shows. Horror stories are told of AAR users who waited more then 20 minutes, moved from their spot as the bus arrived, only to drive off, thinking the rider was the one who was late. Getting into contact with so many different companies is difficult, and riders find that what was supposed to be a convenient service is just a larger burden, or a chore. "It takes a toll on us to wait in all weather or wait without a place to sit down," says Jean.

Complaints go unanswered most times. Jean, who has neuropathy in her arms and legs, and uses a motorized wheelchair to get around, instead has their habits and actions memorized to a science. "Complaining to AAR itself does no good. If they do not pick you up and you are ambulatory and have waited 30 minutes, they will probably issue you a voucher for car service or a taxi voucher and you can still get to where you are going," says Jean. "It can be very frustrating and crappy, but if it's the only way you can continue to work."

Her recommendation for AAR users is to keep a notebook to track down names, service, and phone numbers for when appointments do go wrong. "It makes them more accountable," says Jean. She also suggests users speak to the MTA directly, online or by phone, whenever necessary. It may be that due to traffic or congestion in certain pick-up spots, lateness is inevitable. To make each ride work out, Jean recommends shaping the pick-up to fit the needs of the user and the driver, if to only make each ride a little less stressful than the last.

-Photo courtesy of the NY Daily News.

Kingston Bake Shop: Innocent Bakery or Mafia Secret

In the center of the the Crown Heights neighborhood their is a bakery. Walking along the newly paved streets and sidewalks of Kingston ave. its easy to pass by it on your day to day routine without taking much notice as I did. One day however as I lazily exited the Kingston ave. subway station and made my way through the Hasidic Jew neighborhood on Kingston, when I noticed something that was a bit off.

...

My posts aren't showing up for some reason and I'm not sure if it has something to do with attaching the pictures. Neither of my stories are on here (the one from last week and this week) I'm going to try again without any images.

Think Coffee Customers Unaware They're Donating

Every day, Think Coffee's three downtown locations are packed with people in need of a caffeine boost. Most customers don't realize not all of their money goes to the coffee shop. Each cup's cardboard sleeve states, "10% of the after-tax profits from this Think Coffee are donated to Grand Street Settlement," in tiny black text underneath the organization's logo.

"I come here all the time and I don't know what it [Grand Street Settlement] is," said frequent customer and NYU student Tina, 19. "They should describe it on the sleeve."

Grand Street Settlement is a nonprofit social service organization founded by Samuel Null in 1916 to assist the influx of immigrants settling in the Lower East Side. In the 1920s it created clubs to teach immigrants about their home, learn new skills, and form relationships within the community.

It has since developed to help over 10,000 low-income residents in the area each year. Today, the Settlement has programs for youth, teens, and seniors ranging from daycare to sports, job training, and the Grand Coalition, a program that assists senior citizens with healthcare, well being, and housing.

In the past year, the Settlement's staff of 175 professionals and countless volunteers has helped 612 homes.

Think Coffee and the Settlement's relationship began in 2006 after Jason Scherr, Think Coffee's owner and manager, decided he wanted to donate part of his profits to an organization in the community. According to the Settlement's Winter 2008/2009 Newsletter, Scherr chose the Settlement after learning about their hard work over the years.

From 2006 to 2008, Think Coffee donated over $8,000 to the Settlement. The donations continued on October 22, 2009 when Think Coffee hosted Grand Street Settlement LIVE! at their Mercer St. location. The fundraiser featured a performance by Brooklyn-based band MisterGio. With tickets ranging from $50 to $500, all proceeds went to the Settlement.

Scherr is currently on vacation and not available comment on current donation figures and future plans between Think Coffee and Grand Street Settlement.

Photo Credit: Think Coffee

Unsound Music and Art Festival (edited)

Since 2003, Unsound Music Festival has been providing entertainment, both through music and art to the people of Poland. With seven festivals behind them, they have decided to have their North American debut here, in New York City.

This years Festival, which took place on February 4th through the 14th, in multiple venues throughout Manhattan and Brooklyn, choose to focus on forging new links between music genres, generations, and artistic practices.

“ You get a little bit of everything, is electronic, punk, panels, films and art installations, Said Sam Campbell a photography volunteer from Colorado. Everyone comes together for the love of art and music. Because of that, I couldn’t imagine a better place to have the festival then here in New York."

Unsound was broken up into five sections. Two however seemed to actually accomplish what the creators were trying to achieve. The first, called the Warhol Series, which were $25 a ticket, took place on the 5th and the 6th of February, was dedicated to and inspired by Andy Warhol. Featuring such artists as, Carl Craig (USA) and NSI (Germany) performing electronic soundtracks to Vintage Andy Warhol films.

The Second was The Kids’ Electronic Music workshop, taking place on the 8th and 9th of February, where producers of electronic music taught kids how to create music by using simple technologies and found objects.

“ All of the kids were so happy and excited. Said Sam Campbell, They kept talking about what they were going to create next. Watching those kids play on stage was by far the most rewarding part of the trip.”

This Festival brought people from all over the world into one place making it one of the most successful first time music festivals to happen in New York. This may have been the first year Unsound came to the United States but it wont be the last.

“I paid to come here and work, Said Amanda Lyne, I’m exhausted, sick and broke but none of that really matters once I step foot into the festival. I wouldn’t change one second of this experience.”

Beating the Blizzard.

What’s a snow day without a walk outside? Relaxing, that’s what. But probably not as fun… I geared up Wednesday to face “Snowmageddon,” the storm sequence that brutally assaulted the majority of the East Coast this past week, leaving New York with between 10 and 15 inches of snow (depending on the borough). Day off, ton of snow, and camera in hand, I set out to capture some of Brooklyn’s blizzard-y behavior.

I hadn’t been out of the house for more than a minute when Prospect Heights resident Colin McGrath sped down the sidewalk– on skis. Clearly this needed documentation. "Can we do an action shot?" Colin suggested with a smirk, and I was more than happy to oblige.

I trudged through the snow-filled sidewalks (a bit less prepared than Colin) and quickly sought refuge in one of Prospect Park's pedestrian tunnels. There I met Tori, who was taking time out of the direct snow to practice her juggling, of snowballs, which was pretty damn impressive. "I learned how when I lived in San Francisco, it's huge there," Tori explained with a smile, still weaving the ice chunks in the air.

Then, braving the elements, I entered the park, by now a sledder and snowman’s paradise. At this point, my camera was in dire need of some tlc (drenched, snow clumped, battery dying) so I snagged a few shots of what felt like the world’s largest snowman and attempted to go directly home. Forty minutes of waddling around the park searching for landmarks later, I finally found an exit. Next stop (another forty minutes away): couch, beer, blanket. You might expect the most impressive snow day escapade I encountered came to me, as I was trying to tune out the blizzard. I put The Pixies on pause, sat on my windowsill, and got an aerial shot of this epic snowball fight on Underhill Avenue. Here’s a mashup of these bits of footage I got. And please, remind me to stay in next snowpacolypse, snowmageddon, or snowperbowl. . .