last night...

a strange one. I delivered my shirt to Justin, received my money---he works in a black owned bar on Nostrand, a little south of Atlantic, before you hit Pacific Street. A nice bar--he told me it was run by two black ladies---the four or five bar people were mostly black. The bartender---who might be one of the owners---treated me very kindly, while I was waiting for Justin. Then on to Morgan Avenue to see Friends graduate Shannon and her band mate play. The venue, One Wicked Lady, is pretty far north on Morgan, I have traveled on Morgan many times, but never this far north. Kind of deserted around there, though, of course, some bars have worked their way through. I looked forward to seeing Shannon and her band mate, but it was not to be. When i arrived, they were at the door---the flyer said they would perform at 8, but actually the other bands were starting then, and their band, the Shacks, would not be on until 11. Bummer! It was about 7:50, and I just did not think that I could survive about three hours of bands that I did not know. Shannon and her friend were very nice about it---I will try to see her again, but I felt let down. Walked south on Morgan and then on Bogart, the next block---maybe I could see Get Out, which was playing at Syndicated, but no---it had already started. What then? Maybe trivia at Pine Box Rock Shop, but looked too crowded, and I did not really want to play. I finally decided to take the L to Metropolitan and walk to South fourth---grab some pizza before hand, and "hang'. That is what I did--imagine my surprise when I arrived at the bar and found out that I hit the opening of a neighborhood painter---showing some very wacky, alive paintings in a cartoon mode. I know the gentleman---he thanked me profusely for taking the time out to attend--ironic, since it was just an accident. But I am glad I did; his work is certainly very talented.
Not a lot of conversation, though, and I left still feeling a little let down, which is how I felt this morning when I awoke.
   This morning I started reading the Quentin Vennie autobiography---like the one written by Jim Saint Germain, this also describes a young black man, growing up in a brutally disfunctional family situation---and being able to find a way to move out of it. He grew up in Baltimore, in the Park Heights section---that avenue (Park Heights) he calls one of the most dangerous in the city. That was the late 80's---when i was at Hopkins (early sixties) it was still a very fashionable and safe Jewish area. Like most of the Bronx and parts of Brooklyn, its transformation took place in the late sixties, as the Jewish population moved out---the older ones to the suburbs, and the younger ones---all geared to high achievement--to the many options the world at that time presented them with. Still it is strange to  consider the street where I watched so many families celebrate Yom Kippur on Saturdays in both 60 and 63---all dressed in a kind of expensive Jewish finery---as a kind of jungle.
  The rest of today---well there is  a protest about the East Harlem rezoning plan on 119th and third avenue at 6, and my plan is to be there. After that..not sure. Still no baseball to watch until tomorrow. And speaking of tomorrow, there is a possibility that I will see two movies---maybe---really a few that I would like to see--but that will have to wait. Will report tomorrow.