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    Showing posts with label Brooklyn. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label Brooklyn. Show all posts
  1.  



    To My Brother and Sister Bronxites and to My Cousin Brooklynites

     

    While people are getting murdered by “peace” officers and white supremacists, our Bronx people are killing each other as are our Brooklyn people.  WTF??!!

     

    NYPD: Police respond to 3 different shootings in Brooklyn within 10 minutes of each other
     
     
    Woman says man spit on her, told her to go back to China
     
    Local leaders call for NYC to do more after weekend shooting of teen
     
    Police: 2 men attack 90-year-old woman, light her shirt on fire in Bensonhurst
     
    Police: Video shows suspect wanted in connection to slaying of Bronx transgender woman

     Police: 3 teens sought in assault, attempted robbery in the Bronx

     

    It takes a lot to change our reactions to situations, I know.  But, damn, there ARE other ways to respond to conflict besides hurting and shooting people.  Don't work for the enemy.  Trump is already doing that.  He works for Putin and allows our service men and women to be killed.

     

    Some years ago in my neighborhood, a delivery guy was attacked and had his ear cut off.  I remember talking with a neighborhood man about it.  We didn’t know each other.  He started speaking in Spanish.  I told him I don’t speak Spanish.  He immediately switched to English.  He didn’t give me a hard time like some folks do.  “Why don’t you speak Spanish?”  “I’m not Hispanic.”  “So? You look Spanish.”  “I don’t speak French or Chinese either.”  “You look Spanish. You should speak Spanish.”   He just switched to a language we both understood.  He accepted me the way I accepted him.  It felt very comfortable. 

     

    We talked about the horror that took place.  I couldn’t stand that someone was willing to cut an ear off of a person who wasn’t endangering them.  This man said to me, “When you don’t care about your own life, you don’t care about anyone else’s either.”

     

    That’s it in a nutshell.  He knew what he was talking about.  In one sentence, he expressed so much.  Police cadets and high school students need to hear and understand that.  As bad as I felt about what happened, I felt so good about our conversation.


    (I urge middle school and high school teachers to consider this independent film, PRESSURE, to show to your students. It takes place during the hip-hop/crack epidemic in Brooklyn, NY  https://www.freestyledigitalmedia.tv/film/pressure/ )  


    This summer (2020), I sometimes wondered if the Bronx and Brooklyn were in a killing competition.  I can’t stand all that’s been going on.  That energy could be put into helping and not harming.  We have enough people in this country wanting to end us.  Don’t be part of the problem.  Do something that would make your mother proud, dammit!

     

    Well, it looks like Mother Nature stepped in.  Hurricane Isaias did most of its NYC damage in the Bronx and Brooklyn.  Yes, it was time for her to kick some ass and try to whip us into shape. 

     

    Isaias tears through the Bronx and Brooklyn, downing trees and causing power outages
     
    Falling branches strike woman in head in Brooklyn
     
    City Island restaurants shut down as borough feels impact of Isaias
     
    Tracking Isaias: Trees down in the Bronx
     
    Strong winds, choppy waves hit Clason Point; ferries suspended at Soundview location

     


    And now, another issue that’s been on my mind for quite a while.  To my white/light beige sisters and brothers who don’t understand certain things, please be open to realizing that there is more to know. 

     

     


     

     



    Major love to and concern for CGG-M 💕❤💕

     

     




  2. The Bronx has Yankee Stadium, a world class Botanical Garden, and an award winning zoo. I live in the Bronx - and I hate it.

    I grew up in the borough of churches, Brooklyn, the county of Kings.

    I can’t forget Paul Newman’s eyes in Fort Apache the Bronx or Melanie Griffith’s baby woman lilt in Bonfire of the Vanities. Those movies painted for me the soul of the Bronx and convinced me I preferred my gritty NY, Brooklyn style.


    It’s not that Brooklyn was less violent, or had a lower drug fueled body count. I just loved the county of my birth.

    Not really. As a child, “Bed-Stuy do or die!” was "Mostly die!" The violence, drugs and burned out buildings made me want to leave as soon as I could. And I did.

    I left with Phil, my high school sweetheart, to a 5 flight walk up on E.110th St.  
    The Young Lords collected our rent and junkies paused mid-fix to let us pass by. 

    We were an interracial Romeo & Juliet, searching for our Camelot. When we said goodbye to Spanish Harlem, Brooklyn welcomed us back. For a time we lived rent free as sextons of an Ocean Ave. church, then moved to a 1 bedroom (in an elevator building!) on Linden Blvd. near Bedford Ave. When Flatbush began to feel too provincial, we found cosmopolitan cache in lower Manhattan. 

    It was a short walk to Soho, China Town, The Village and Little Italy, but even taxis didn't know the route to our new home off the Hudson. No neighborhood stores, banks or streetlights for Washington Market area pioneers, made moving to Independence Plaza an even more romantic adventure. 



    We settled down and had a son. 

    In the years that followed I was shocked to find myself in THE center of the universe, when Robert De Niro christened MY neighborhood - Tribeca. Now, we had stores; but just to buy coffee I had to pick my way through a gaggle of celebrities, like Naomi Campbell, John John Kennedy, Nathan Lane and that's just in August when no one is in NY.

    Phil and I made it through 9/11 but not our marital strife. 

    When divorce sent me packing back to Brooklyn I found a great one bedroom in a neglected brownstone. I was so depressed, the only time I laughed was when EVERY visitor and I do mean EVERYONE said, 
    "You should rent your walk-in closet. You could get 7 or 800 a month."
    "On Macon St. and Malcolm X?" (I laughed)

    I was alone for the first time in my life. No husband, no work, no health insurance. My only comfort was that the hood reminded me of simpler times: Red Light Green Light 1-2-3! and Double-Dutch with that girl who was always double handed.

    My life was in tatters. Emotionally adrift and so distracted, I didn't notice that the center of the universe followed me to Bed-Stuy. The lone white family on Macon St. should have been my 1st clue. Then, I missed a 2nd clue - The A train.

    Usually on the A train, after Borough Hall, my fellow travelers were all melanin gifted. One night at my stop, Utica Ave., I looked at the crowd on the train and left wondering, "Where are all those white people going? Somewhere for Scientology?"

    I finally got the message when the city repaved Nostrand Ave. and put benches at bus stops on Fulton St. I saw white people: walking at midnight, heads in i-phones - not even looking up! Blonds and redheads jogging in their little shorts and walking their little dogs; and that was just the men.

    House after house was sold and bought changing the complexion of my block. For a minute I considered buying the brownstone I lived in. The broker said it didn't matter I was unemployed, because payments wouldn't increase until much later that year.

    When the brown skin sister who wrote for the NY Post bought my building I thought, "I got this!" 

    Little did I know I'd dodged a sub-prime mortgage bullet only to get hit with a rent increase cannon ball. 

    When my lease was almost up, Sister Land Lady informed me I could stay another year at double the rent. Yes, double the rent! My random extra work on movies and TV, left me with a thousand dollar budget for shelter. 

    Because white kids, from I don't know where, were eager to pay 3 times my "reasonable rent", I had 3 months to leave. 

    "Mayor DeBlasio's Affordable Housing lottery is a joke." I tweeted daily. 
    All I wanted was a nice 1 bedroom for a thousand dollars a month.

    After 9 months of looking and a nervous breakdown, I bought a co-op in the South Bronx. Yes, I bought a co-op, because I didn't earn enough money for "affordable housing"; except the two times they told me I made too much???!!!
    Yes, the Affordable Housing lottery is a joke.

    The first week I moved to Soundview, there was a murder around the corner. After 2 years, I'm use to the helicopter noise and fleet of emergency vehicles investigating the monthly shootings.

    When I notice I've no friends near, nor shops I prefer, not even my bank close by; I feel petty AND sad that I bought an apartment in Fort Apache, The Bronx. Speaking of movies...

    Down the street on a lot just off Bruckner Blvd., York studios broke ground on a $100 million dollar studio for movie and TV production.


     No the Bronx isn't burning. 


    The heat I feel is the center of the universe breathing down my neck. 

    Rhonda Hansome (actress, director
    storyteller & stand up comic)
    Heard 2-5 PM Mondays on SiriusXM 
    Ch 121 with John Fugelsang.
    See Rhonda here, there and around.












  3. Post-Blizzard Laughs

    Tuesday, March 14, 2017






    I've been financially limping along, but thanks to angels in my life, I have been able to eat.  

    The good news is there will be a small raise in my salary, I'm performing comedy in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn this Wednesday evening, and I might have a paid acting gig in two weeks.  Not a big amount at all, but something.  I feel a bit hopeful again.  The role is that of a widow named Carmen.  I can do melancholy.

    For those of you who are in Brooklyn or willing to travel to Brooklyn, I'll be performing my stand-up comedy on Wednesday, March 15th, 9pm at Red, White & Brew, 8910 5th Avenue in Bay Ridge.  It's free.   I don't know what other funny people are on the line-up.  I know it's no cover and no minimum.  Come have some post-blizzard laughs on me.






  4. My Facebook experience is getting more and more annoying.  I do not care what secret Ellen is keeping from me.  She's not my wife or husband.  She doesn't owe me her secrets.  Her hidden secret that shocked the world.  Oh puhleeze.   I also don't have any interest in what 3 things repel men.  I'm just sorry the same shit I grew up with is still filling the eyes and ears and minds of women.  Let's not repel men, oh God forbid.  Better advice:  be you, the best you you can be, and those who enter your life, and make you glad they did, are your peeps.  Let the others be repelled.  Boy, I learned how to get a man too well and I must've learned how to keep one because I couldn't get rid of the one I needed to get rid of for a long-ass time.  Those were the skills I lacked.  I was like a kidnap victim.  Still shaking it off.  His 'love' was an act of hatred.  I needed to learn how to slip out of a life-hold.
     



    I am actually proud that I've given myself a nice long penis-free period of time.  I needed it.  I think I needed it years ago, but like many things, I'll have to take it when I can make it happen.  I admit, there were times I thought I wanted to be with someone and then would be thanking God for not giving me what I had thought I wanted.  In retrospect, I'd see so clearly what I was spared of.  I shuddered at some of the ones I thought I wanted.  It showed me my lack of growth in some areas.  It also may have been a weaning off from a certain personality, so I kept attracting that type of person -- both genders -- but to lighter degrees (except for one who was crazier but, thankfully, many states away and not with money to spare and hop on planes).  I learned from some of my attractions that I was better off without involvements until I can trust my ability to back off.  I am okay with meeting and getting to know someone.  But when I sense that this will not be a good fit, I don't always back off.  I see the red flags, but I haven't always honored them.  And that's how I've ended up in bad situations.  I cannot control how many bad m-f's are out there or how they will behave.  I can only hope to control my behavior.  I realize that one of the results of my childhood is not to listen to my insides.  I have been staying very conscious and obeying my insides more.  The more I value my life, the easier it gets. 


    This past weekend was needed.  At first I was glad to not have plans with anyone because I wanted the freedom to do nothing.  Well I'm a little too good at doing nothing.  Then I feel like crap for doing nothing when there is plenty needing doing.  Then I sink further inside.  It can be rich if I'm using my finds for a poem or a story or a role I'm cast in or if I'm in a therapy session, but just sitting in my shit is not how I want to be.  The lower I sunk, the more scared I'd get of how low I can go.  Then I'd put my foot down and get up and do something.  I cleaned out part of my medicine cabinet which was so long overdue.  There were pieces of fallen ceiling in there from quite a while back, lots of expired stuff, prescription painkillers I hadn't remembered I had, besides that the wall inside the cabinet needs the many layers of peeling paint scraped.  I put together part of a playlist for an event we are planning at one of my jobs.  That got me up and dancing.  I tried to get rid of some of a ridiculously long back-up of email.  I managed to trim it a bit.  In there, I found a video from a doctor that demonstrated the stretch to help eliminate back pain.  I did the exercise twice.  He said it should be repeated 9 times.  I took out four bags of garbage.  I practiced not smoking cigarettes.  I got through more hours than I thought I would.  I responded to a casting notice for background work which I almost never apply for anymore unless I am desperate for money and it fits my schedule.  Well this one offered a waiver (if you get 3, I believe you can join the union which is one, but not the only, way to become a union member).  That was why I applied to play a 'parent type' in a zombie film.  The first response I received said he was all out of waivers for that day but offered me a small amount of deferred pay if I'd do it and the promise of first dibs at another day of work for a waiver.  No.  Deferred pay is not cash in my hand or a check in a week.  Background work for two days for the same waiver I would get in one day.  None of it sounded worth it to me.  I've done a lot more than fits on a one-page acting resume at this point and do not need it for experience.  Some hours later, he got a cancellation and told me that if I was still available for the next day, he had a waiver for me.  Bingo.


    It would take place on a pier in Greenpoint, Brooklyn the next afternoon.  I was told to dress warmly with many layers.  The forecast said the high would be 30 degrees.  My arm hairs stood at the thought of being on a pier, but I would wear many things.  At least I wasn't told we would be playing it like it is August or anything like that.  I wouldn't even put myself through that, waiver or no waiver.  I'm not 20.  I don't recover as fast. 

    To give myself stress, I was running late for the call time.  The good part was that even though I had to take 3 trains, 2 of the rides were very short.  When I got out in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, I was grateful that it was not windy.  We were in holding (that sounds like a holding cell, but it isn't) for a couple of hours, so I was not perceived as late at all.  The people, director, crew were all pleasant and respectful.  We were supposed to be horrified at the sight of Manhattan bursting into flames as we watched from the pier in Brooklyn.  That was the role.  We did several takes, took direction well, and got the fuck out of the cold.  Back at holding (a nice warm studio), we filled out our paperwork for a waiver. 

    It was early evening, and I didn't feel like going directly home.  I went to the Olive Tree in the Village for a drink and some food.  Then I surprised Su Polo at her Saturn Series poetry reading on East 15th Street.  I enjoyed the open mic readers and the two featured poets.  I read a poem that I read there about a year ago, but I've since edited it.  I like it more now.  It is clearer and tidier.  It's about a young woman who lived across the street from me and I didn't know but learned about her life after she was killed by a car.  Though it is very tragic, it feels therapeutic to read it aloud.
     
    So on the third day of the three-day weekend, I was in motion. 

    If not for my Luigi  who needs his walks, I might not see outside for days. 
    ................................................................................................................................................

    The winner of the two tickets to see "My Mother Has 4 Noses" will be announced tomorrow on the She So Funny Facebook page.  I am torn between two contenders.




  5. Body Art

    Tuesday, February 19, 2013


    Body Art

     
    On Saturday afternoon, I was stretching and crawling and searching and escaping and reaching and embracing and sliding all over a clean Brooklyn apartment floor in my jeans and a tank top with my hair long and loose while being photographed and videotaped.  It felt so free and fun in that creative way like when handed a big lump of clay to mold any way one wants.  I’m not trying to imply I have that kind of flexibility, but it was that free.  Unlike posing for the actual drawing, I didn’t need to hold any position for more than a second or two.  So the choices were many.  The artist told me to make shapes and do whatever I wanted.  She would not direct.  With clothes on, all kinds of leg lifting felt comfortable.  It reminded me of the safe comfort of being in those flannel footsie pajamas as a child.  She put on music.  I started to feel I was in a silent movie telling a dramatic tale with my body and face, but mostly my body.  I felt free to choreograph, which felt new to me and fun.    

                                                                                                                               
    On Valentine’s Day, I had found a posting on craigslist for a one-time gig.  An hour at most.  A female artist needing a clothed female model to photograph for reference shots.  Her process would be videotaped for possible inclusion in a show in March.  The payment was fair.  I applied with photos and a description.  She got back to me with a link to her site and wrote that she’d love to work with me.  She needed natural light which meant a daytime meeting.  We set a time for Saturday, she gave me good travel directions to her part of Brooklyn, and she included her number if needed.  I’m usually convinced that on craigslist, like anywhere, more folks are not murderers than are.  (Sex offenders – that’s another story.)


    In about a half hour, we were done.  I had crawled, rolled, writhed, and really stretched.  She had taken between 500 and 700 shots.  I had a unique and somewhat therapeutic experience, a combination of dramatic acting  and re-visiting toddlerhood.  She seemed very pleased with the shots.  That matters to me.  It never feels good to me if I don’t feel that I did a good job.  She handed me the payment for an hour’s work.  I now was able to put money on my metrocard, and I will get to payday.

    Leah Yerpe is having a solo show at Le Poisson Rouge in the Village on March 6th.  Drawings of me won’t be in this show as the work has already been selected.  I’d be honored if drawings of me are in a future show.  I like looking at her work.  I like the whole idea.  For those intrigued, below are her words and a sample of the work that will be exhibited.

    an exhibition by

    leah yerpe


    The Gallery at LPR, on March 6th 6:30 - 9:30pm. This solo exhibition features 12 new artworks, including 5 new pieces never previously exhibited.

    Stellify means to transform or be transformed into a star or constellation. Creation myths of nearly every ancient civilization include stories of humans transformed into constellations. My favorites are those in which a god, noticing one of our ancient ancestors fleeing some terrible danger, takes pity and saves them by placing among the stars. There is something simultaneously beautiful and terrifying about this concept. Much of my recent work was developed with these stories in mind.
                                There will be refreshments and an open bar serving alcohol, so we ask that guests be 21+.

    The Gallery at Le Poisson Rouge is located at 158 Bleecker Street, New York, NY 10012




    Sometimes, not only is the person not a murderer, but they are actually who they say they are.  And a collaboration of sorts can take place.