* JuanMapu - Vida en Nueva York

For own birthdays I recommend some sacrifice or sign of willingness. Last year I fasted and this year I ran to set up my head, which has been all over the place lately.

I also finished in networking event and have news for you my fellow New Yorkers: We are gonna have a new daily Spanish language newspaper in about two weeks. I know the people so contact me for your community announcements that I will forward them.

Nueva York Al Día will distribute 20,000 copies around the metropolitan area. The promise made during the release party at Paramount Hotel -contact Ingrid for your networking events- is to give Spanish NYC a second choice to read on a daily basis. But hold your horses dear intellectuals: do not expect that NY Times en español you've been screaming for years. No. NY Al Día will be competing with old known tabloid El Diario; after all, the only business that makes money with your intellect is higher education and you can also read in English so who gives a shit about what do you want, go and feed your brain with something else.

Still, it was a warm welcome for Al Día. People were interested, excited and carefully listened to each presentation. Editor in Chief Vicglamar Torres told the audience the paper is going to have some rotating special pages and Mondays will be focused on the weekend sports. GM Juan Carlos Sánchez added that the paper will be focusing in the local community -which I think is how it has to be done. They are all good news in general.

As for the party, it was a nice gathering of unemployed journalists and industry people. I saw my two mentors and they are chilling, enjoying life and keeping a good sense of humor. There were also some networking people and a sense of hope and opportunity that was corroborated by each time Juan Carlos mentioned president Obama during his presentation.

*******************
I got good presents. My sweetheart hooked me up with a book that will solve everyone problems, some good records, dinner and...MoMa gave me a free membership for next year!

*******************
I went to the Fish N' Chips joint in Amsterdam Avenue and 156th and read this: "Our moto is: 'Feed the People.'" Awesome.

From LondonSquare:

One more person has congratulated me for my job status. After more than month with an independent life I have notice that some activities are more usual than before. What am I doing nowadays?

• Wake up early.
• Cooking a lot.
• Listen to music I haven't heard before, specially over the Internet.
• Not just watch the UEFA Champions League in my LCD TV and from my bed, I channel surf TWO Champions League games.
• Back into reading three to five books at a time.
• No deodorant is necessary.
• Wear just one one pair of jeans.
• Napping.
• Movies in the mornings or mornings of movies.
• Read blogs.
• Use social network sites.
• Do laundry by myself.
• Get drunk during weekdays

+++++++++
The new roommate is right about how inspiring hangovers could be. It is something related to the will of getting out of that trashy estate and forget about the embarrassments from the night before with a sublime action. Well, they have some fantasy too. I woke up hungry, determined to give me a strong start up with a good Dominican breakfast. When I checked my pockets I found out the cab driver gave me a two-dollar bill as change. "A good sign," I thought. "This means everything is good."

Then I went out. The morning was sunny and warm. I walked towards the restaurant and saw an old lady pushing a baby stroller with a french poodle on it. "Yeah baby, this is good," I said.

GBHQ and I have many disagreements but we do have something in common: We love freelance writing.

One night he called after many months without any news from him. He was lost in the middle of nowhere and needed to find his way back to NYC, "The city I should never have left," as he wrote to me days before his come back. With a nostalgic but eager tone, he told me that his best times were when he was freelancing around NYC, earning way less money than in the corporate job he had at that time.

I couldn't help getting nostalgic too after his words.

Finally I've been feeling uncomfortable in the Heights and the blame fall on the recession and my girlfriend.

Lately, I've been hiding from my main barber. The last cut-n-trim was in January, when I got a bachatero look for SuperStar 30th b-day bash. Then I went as an independent worker and decided to try the cut-n-trim myself instead of spending $15-20. (Let's make clear that I like to help the economy and when I have money in my pockets I hire people's services.)

From the last visit, I remember my fellow barber telling me that he wouldn't be able to make his living if I were his only client or if everyone decides to have a hair cut every two months like I used to do. To be frank, I wasn't very happy with the comment and may be I'm just having an unconscious reaction to 'the pressure.'

Around a month ago, I passed by the barbershop and from the window he just made me signs suggesting a haircut, which just worsen everything. I've always been conscious of the gay item in the dynamic of barbershops -do not think about beauty salons please-, and the Spanish love ballads these Dominican machos loudly sing during the mornings shifts heighten my doubts, but the snub feeling I'm getting with this guy is the same I have when I don't want to be with someone.

Now I'm avoiding walking the barbershop block and when I do it I walk fast or simulate being distracted. I hope one day he understands I don't belong to him and that I don't want to be touched by him anymore!

Meanwhile, I've been very happy with the way I'm managing my hair and beard. My girlfriend loves it. You had to hear her in April when my curls started to show up, "You hair is growing!" She sounded proud, fulfilled, sexually attracted. I'm also enjoying being my own barber and feel good learning a new trade. Baby: I'm doing it just for you, my inspiration.

I heard Truman Capote quoted Santa Teresa in his novel "Answered Prayers" when he writes, "Answered prayers cause more tears than those that remain unanswered." Well, I thought the barber issue was a matter within one single block. I was wrong, there is one more barber, one that I hadn't visited for a year, and I bumped into him a couple days ago, face-to-face, in another street. Of course he recognized me: barbers have the capability to memorize faces and heads.

I wanted to disappear or at least have a clean cut. He saw a man in need for a cut-n-trim service. I said hello and ran away as fast as I could. I hope he thinks hard drugs or the recession took my pride away.

"You need this place to be awake," she said.

I think is a good place for anyone. In Houston Street there is a breeze that cools me down. I feel beaten, like the cars of this city. Who cares, whatever, I would like to keep walking. What about a beer? I feel beaten and alcohol will make it worst. Ice cream. From the Indian store where cab drivers go and eat dinner for $3. Something spicy over rice. Yes, they do have a fridge for ice cream. Pistachio ice cream!

Before Second Avenue station stop and take a look. The sunset shadows over the buildings. The heat in the pavement. Watery people.

*********
Everybody knows is the perfect time to sleep. I cannot do it today though. Instead, I have to watch it. I'm very surprise with the umbrella awareness people have. There are husband, wife and child, all with their own umbrella. Delivery guys have poncho instead, so they can ride their bikes. So they can work. I can see the ad, "Need a delivery guy with own bike and poncho" or "Need a delivery guy, we provide bike and poncho."

Sofa. A couple of pages. REM. Awake after two minutes. I dreamt around my family, dancing, my sisters and brothers having a good time. Now is pouring. It is perfect to finish reading a novel that happens during a storm.

Sometimes feels like it would never stop.

Two hangover DJs walk the streets of their beloved neighborhood on a sunny Sunday. Everything is already wonderful. They were magical behind the booth the night before. The dancefloor was packed and hysterical. They kicked ass. Still, there is room for the unexpected scene.

The doorsteps of a brownstone. She is loud. Her voice is as powerful as her whole presence. Black high heels boots. White suit and white hat. Red shirt, red lipstick. She sings loud and the chorus says, "it's the music, it's the music." Something like that. Roaring. She probably does it very often because nobody else cares except for the two DJs. They even stopped to see her big eyes and the modulations of her throat. She points to nowhere while keeps the rhythm with her left foot tapping.

She is loud. They know the "it's the music" roar is for the rest of their lives.

NYC Subway, the livest metallic creature on Earth.

We all know there is always something sudden in a ride. And what about unforgettable rides. Once I lifted my ahead and look around I noticed the train was very Latino, mostly Puerto Rican. Family people, some of them carrying babies; there was an elder couple talking a little bit loud. Once I noticed the Latin majority I could not help thinking on the possibility of having a whole car speaking Spanish, which is what happened afterwards. It was a smooth ride until a couple of junkies got on. The guy was panicking and the girl was in complete desperation, trying to find a bag of sugar to stop that sort of attack. And here came my Spanish train:

"Están locos," said the lady in front of me.
"Cuando no tienen droga lo que piden es azúcar, ese carajo no tiene nada", said the husband and father of a little girl, two seats away.
"Voy a avisarle al chofer," proposed the elder man.

The conductor came to see if the junkie were ok. He tried to be ok. For the good of his girlfriend and the commuters, he behaved ok.

The ride resumed. "Viste que ahí sino tenía nada," said the husband and father.

***********
Whatever is happening in Iran sounds terrible but the New York Times pressure over president Obama is non-sense too and a black man is pissed about it. This is the subway chat, Train A Uptown, around Fulton Street Station:

"Don't blame the president you coward...take your stinky ass there and stop that thing yourself!"

He got off in West 4 Street. His substitute was a trumpetist who played some tunes over a recorded track. He was less trouble and committed, but somehow soothed the A Train Uptown.

Tuesday. It is kind of a blah day, even with the sun, the storm, the sun's return for a beautiful sunset. The break from the blah is a short stop by the Chelsea Hotel lobby.

All these years trying to avoid writing about the Chelsea Hotel but...The myth. One day me and La Reina took the elevator all the way to the top floor and then walked down the stairs, floor by floor. It is true that is full of art and weird corners. It does have ghosts and they sat down in the hallways. Some cry in panic and others just smoke cigarettes. Some smile at you. The windows are like magnets and it is impossible to not get closer and take a look to the outside world because once you are in the Chelsea Hotel there is an outside world. Everything you heard about the Chelsea Hotel is true.

For the blah day a short stop to cut the bullshit was enough. The haunted is a vivid force.

Thank God for Internet in times of recession cause there is no other way to read the news.

Trying to have a new feature, here is my first New York News Mix:

Manhattan City Councilman Miguel Martinez admits he stole tens of thousands of taxpayer dollars - Daily News
Martinez admitted he was able to steal because he was a councilman. He is from Uptown Manhattan. Bad, very bad. More>

Police Say 'Fight Club' Inspired a Bomber - New York Times
No wonder why "Mr. Fincher and Mr. Palahniuk, through their agents, declined to comment." Stupid cops. More>

Death to Cupcakes: When will we finally be rid of the little bastards? - Village Voice

Village Voice bitter writing one more time. One thing about cupcakes is that someone always finished asking everyone to take some home. More>

The Billyburg Bust - New York Magazine

We all love to talk shit about Williamsburg. He is more. Please keep in mind how New York Magazine keep the dream of a New York life attached to Manhattan. More>

Did you think this feature would last just one week? Wrong.

We agreed there is always something to do in NYC and we spend a lot of time out in the street. What about rainy days? What about "the waiting for something at home" days? NYC based publications are putting a lot of resources on the their interactive online features for our virtual city experience. Here some samples:

The Neighborhood News - New York Magazine

A very simple map with weird news headlines. The map tunes you up with the city. The headlines are surprising. More>

Press Clips - The Village Voice

The Village Voice is dedicated to bring independent info and points of view. However, the Press Clips sections opens up to the rest of the NYC's press and the clips come from everywhere. More>

We You Love New York - Daily News

The populist tabloid let people create the city guide. More>

Murder: New York City - New York Times

It is a sad feature, but this map gives you and idea about crime in New York City. The NYTimes team of cybergeeks is the one leading the paper's transition into a new economic and social model. More>

Since last week, I scheduled myself for the Believer Magazine, McSweeney's writers panel from the Word for Word Author series at Bryant Park. I needed to hear other writers writing and thoughts, which is a feeling that is becoming as usual as going to listen and dance other DJs.

The night before to the panel, I decided to ride my bike there and basically have my longest ride of the summer: All the way to Bryant Park, then to Tribeca to pick up my new records (I finally got The Revenge remix of Marvin Gaye's "Heavy Love Affair"!) and then come back to Washington Heights, my home sweet hood. I was very on time for the panel and lucky enough to find a good seat, next to a red hair girl I had seen before. After the panel I got a copy of the Believer's music issue, so I put more weight than the expected on the come back ride. My shoulders felt it and by 110th Street I was ready to walk and have a break with Rossy.

Going to the panel turned out to be a good thing to do. (At the end of the day that's why I am New York City). The substitute moderator Amanda Stern had a sharp sense of humor and writers Joe Hagan, Jessica Anthony, James Hannaham, Arthur Phillips and Brandon Stosuy told good life stories and gave a broad inside of the publishing world.

What I wasn't expecting was them talking about music and writing. Four of them happened to have written about music and although Anthony did not write on music she said her novel The Convalescent was for Queen. As a writer that happens to be a DJ, former editor of a music site and with a writing project that involves a lot of music (house) in mind, the panel came in the nick of time. Here some random notes I took:

"Writing about music is about the feelings people have with."
"You can finish writing about the sound of a city when you write about music."
"You don't need technical expertise."
"Writing is creating sounds, the sounds inside your head."

I kinda like the idea of being a weekly informer. it's been a hectic week but here is the mix: a bag lady inheritance, celebrities in the bathroom, store owner self-defense and NYC's emptiness:

Manhattan mystery: Who's the bag lady who donated $100,000 to Hebrew University? - Daily News
Well, this is more about my girlfriend and I (and her ex too) but it is a very NYC's story anyway. And you can participate if you know something. More>

Back at Work, Harlem Store Owner Recounts Shooting - New York Times
Some crime blogging by the NY Times. More >

Celebrity Bathroom Stories - The Village Voice
Michael Musto for second consecutive week. This time from his blog. More>

The Too-Quiet City - New York Magazine
I don't agree with this article althought it has some points. For me this is the latest message from this week. I'm gonna stay in this city yo! More>

Yesterday was a kind of hectic day so after I finished with my daily tasks around 4:00 p.m. I decided to go for a dance, listen to some music, have a taste of a summer night out in New York City. All by myself as I usually do. "It's been a while," I thought, "Probably months." I couldn't call the last time I went out alone.

"What kind of house head are you motherfucker?"

**

One thing I like about house music places in NYC is they stay loyal to the underground ambient. Few clubs have signs in this city. One recognizes them by a line outside or the velvet ropes managed by big guys known as bouncers. Somehow these clubs are always located in non-well-illuminated streets. Santos House Party is located in Chinatown, by Lafayette Street.

I went to see DJ Spinna but he wasn't there. It was disappointing because it was part of the deal of going out but it didn't change the main meaning of being out there. It was great to be in a dance floor again, in front of a loud sound system and dancers throwing powder on the floor. And it was like my lucky night, I got in there for free and drinks were back to their regular prices. (Beers were $4 and later I bought a double gin on the rocks for $10).

Another night out last night. This time to see what I consider the greatest appearance in Latin Music in recent history: Tego Calderón, "El Abayarde". It was a free show but it cost me a trip to a far corner in the west Bronx, where there are no signs of hipsters and one realizes, once again, how huge NYC is.

It also cost me a long wait inside a Latin nightclub. For about three hours everything was about legs, tits, bad djing, sexual harassment, ridiculous show off and many security concerns. I have never seen such a huge army of bouncers. They were probably 10 to 15 including the leader, the only one wearing white instead of black. They took my pen away by the entrance, but I managed to get another one inside. I never used it because I took notes in the Blackberry. Still, the point was to break their security and come back home with a pen.

One measure against cocaine sniffers that impressed me was the hole by the toilets doors enabling bouncers to see those moves. However, there were drugs, which means I wasn't the only one infringing the rules. There was weed smoke during Tego's performance.

Tego showed up before 3 am. He wore white and had his iconic beret on (like I was expecting because I wore mine to give him some homage). He just sang four songs. It was more a showcase than a concert. He finished when I was just ready for more. He is so real! He is fun and he is right when he claims his music is hip-hop. The reggaetón Dem Bow is a well-used accessory here.

It was pouring outside when I left. I was tired and wished to be tired for dancing Tego all night long. Whatever happened, it was part of the journalistic adventure.

Skateboarders, New Yorkers on Health Care Reform, a vinyl release about music screams selected by NYC's music store clerks, and Quentin Tarantino in this week's mix.

Primal Snippets, on Vinyl - New York Times
This is what I call a smart project. LeRoy Stevens released a vinyl a music screams with the help of NYC's music store clerks. Beautiful! More>
Quentin Tarantino: The Inglourious Basterds Interview - Village Voice
I have ruled out movies and made others a must-see after reading a Village Voice's critic. This is not a critic, but a Voice's interview with Tarantino is something worth. More>

The wheel New York: Skateboarders are ramping up the action in parks across the 5 boros - NY Daily News
I never skateboarded but I have two persons in my life who make love skateboarding. This is for you guys. More>

Unhealthy Debate - New York Magazine
The results of a Health Care Reform poll with 100 NYC's pedestrians. More>

Bumping into food blogs lately. Last week I discovered the one of a Spaniard chef "Cocina para impostores (Cuisine For Impostors".) His writing style is as fresh and simple as the recipes he posts. Then are my friends KB and GA. One calls herself a "reluctant pescatarian" and the other posts anti-inflammatory recipes. Both smarts girls, therefore good writers, therefore good cocineras -as I know they'd like to be called.

So here is my take on food. Everything begins with a stop at one of neighborhood Mexican restaurants "La Oaxaqueña." I went there short of cash and decided to have small meal, may be a couple of tacos and some water. Instead, Elizabeth, the manager, offered me some from the lunch menu, around three different colorful hot choices. I went for the green meal: Pork ribs in pipián sauce. They came with pinto beans, rice, salad and, of course, tortillas.

Delicious. I couldn't help asking about the pipián sauce recipe and Elizabeth didn't mind to share it at all. You will need baby pork ribs, squash seeds, green tomatoes, one chile serrano, garlic, onion and hoja santa.

First boil the ribs until they are ready and then sautéed them. Keep the water. On a frying pan toast the seeds. Then blend some of the water from the ribs and the toasted seeds.

Apart blend the tomatoes, the chile serrano, garlic, onion and hoja santa like making a green sauce. Then put the mix on frying pan and sautéed it in low heat.

Slowly start pouring the seed mix on the sautéed green sauce and stir. The texture should not be dense or thick. Put the ribs in the pipián mix and you're done.

What else I learned from Elizabeth? Well, garlic, onion and hoja santa are used to help your digestion. When something is very sour put a little bit of Mexican white salt. Meatballs have to be made with pork and breaded steak with beef.

PD: Sorry for not having photos.

Politics in my neighborhood, 9/12, a slob, Madoff properties and a ripped Manhattan District Attorney candidate in this week's mix.

Eight in Race to Replace Ousted Councilman in Dominican District 10 - www.WNYC.org
It is good to put something from WNYC in the mix. Check how Dominicans do old school politics in Washington Heights. More >

History Lessons in the D.A.'s Race: Leslie Crocker Snyder's Back Pages - Village Voice
I'm glad a person like Snyder has no chance to get elected. Learn the reasons. More>

Madoff Sell-off - New York Magazine
Oh Bernie, I just hope you find truth the rest of your life...And read the Ecclesiastes. More>

A Fortress City That Didn't Come to Be - New York Times
This is the story of the week. It is true, what's the deal with September 12th?. More>

Cops find man isn't dead, just a slob - Daily News
You gotta be very filthy if someone thinks you are dead. More>

Chance or not, I happened to visit the most Hispanic neighborhood in NYC the day journalist Geraldo Rivera talked about his new book "The Great Progression: How Hispanics Will Lead America to a New Era of Prosperity" on WNYC radio.

I went to 181st Street business district after I saw the advertisement of a Pollo Campero (a Latin chicken restaurant chain). It is the kind of place where meals are two or three pieces of grilled chicken, fried yuca or sweet plantains, plus rice and beans. (Normally you add a soda to the meal, but I was surprised by the fact Pollo Campero also carries Jamaica, Tamarindo and Horchata waters.) I have to confess a thought I had while eating my lunch: I feel proud about Campero-in the Latin proud sense. Excited about it, I began to think about how I target my career towards the U.S. Hispanic market and my reasons to do it. It is clear to me that my opportunities are where Hispanics are. I like the melting pot and the entire one world shit, but I'm a person in love with my culture.

The first thing a person needs to know when moving to New York City is that parties are very important. They are the connection to the city. Parties bring friends, work, love and terrible hangovers.

In movies set in NYC I have found scenes similar to the parties I have attend. Here are three of them, help me to remember more or add yours.

Breakfast at Tiffany's: I haven't been in party that elegant but the soiree at Holly Golightly's tiny apartment is an accurate description of how NYC parties work and the stuff you can expect.

Next Stop Greenwich Village: There are two parties in here. One is the classic bar during a winter night where the character of a painter like my friend Renzo Ortega is introduced. The other is a house party that ilustrates the Social Whist Party concept I work every year in my place.

Midnight Cowboy: This is my newest addition to the list. The party Joe (Jon Voight) and Ratzo (Dustin Hoffman) are invited is the underground artsy fest alike to the Rubulab parties I went during my first months in the city.

Kramer Vs. Kramer: I couldn't find the YouTube of the corporate christmas party Dustin Hoffman walks by, but I'm counting it. I've been there.

Italian mafia, NYC's billionaire Mayor, Fordham Road, cassettes and organs delicacies in this week's mix.

The Bloomberg Years - WNYC
Trying to know more about Mayor Michael Bloomberg? Joyce Purnick gave a good insight in The Brian Lehrer Show. More>

Let's Go to the Audiotape - New York Magazine
As Herb Powell said in The Simpsons, "you just need an idea." My question is: Who is making cassette reproducers now? More>

Fordham Road, Where the Blight Stopped - New York Times
I walked Fordham Road a month ago and it impressed me. Here are more details. More>

Organs: Internal Delicacies from Across the Globe - Village Voice
I do like live and internal organs are my weakness. This slide show makes me hungry. More>

Junior Gotti's night to remember: Sister Victoria Gotti describes secret Mafia ceremony in new book - NY Daily News
This is The Godfather but the real thing. The Gotti's saga continues. More>

A woman in a men's jail, filmmaker Abel Ferrara, a reggae star victim of a wannabe samurai, the new director of the immigration services and a budget hotel entrepreneur in this week's mix.

Woman Mistaken for a Man in City Jail Sues Over Her Ordeal - Village Voice
Sometimes The Village Voice get into Daily News territory. I hope this woman finds some justice. Stupid judiciary system. More>

Abel Ferrara on Those Who Checked Out but Never Leave - New York Magazine
Mr. Ferrera is not one of my favorite directors, but he is a interesting character and Chelsea Hotel regular. More>

1980s reggae star Major Mackarel attacked by jealous neighbor with samurai sword - Daily News
I like this one because is so Tarantino. Hope Major Mackerel recovers soon to keep the jamming alive. More>

New Immigration Services Director - WNYC
Alejandro Mayorkas answers questions immigration from fellow Newyorkers. More>

Little Rooms, Big Profits - New York Times
This is how people make money in New York. This man has been bankrupted twice. More>

Frank McCourt H.S., Bars with Great Takeout Food, comedians in Astoria, New Yorkers to Cuba in this new mix.

Frank McCourt, Teacher - New York Magazine
I have never read him, but people in the city keep saying beautiful things about him and I believe them. I wish I can attend Frank McCourt High School in the future. More>

A Guide to NYC Bars with Great Takeout Food - Village Voice
I would like to have a car for a night and try some of these places. More>

Anybody Here From Astoria? - New York Times
I like the combination of NYC's comedians and the great neighborghood of Astoria. More>

Opening travel to Cuba for all draws closer - NY Daily News
Albor Ruiz gives an update regarding traveling to Cuba. I can't wait. More>

El Museo's reopening, a new use for Limelight, NYC's papers survival and David Letterman in this week's mix.

Limelight makes transformation from notorious nightclub to indoor market - Daily News
I never visited it when it was a church, neither as a nightclub, I might see the market. More>

Beyond the Barrio, With Growing Pains - New York Times
I was honored with two gigs there this week. El Museo rules. More>

How New York City's Seven Newspapers Are (Nearly) Surviving - Village Voice
I am fan of stories about media. This is a deep one. More>

Dave's Crushes - New York Magazine
I like the ilustration and the angle this story has about Letterman's affairs. More>

Haunted Bronx, Voice's best of NYC, the future of publishing and my good friend Blanka Amezkua in this news mix.

The Bronx is haunted by ghost stories, says historian Stephen Paul DeVillo - NY Daily News
News trick or treat. More>

Best of NYC 2009 - Village Voice
One the greatest things the Village Voice does. More>

Backlist to the Future - New York Magazine
Some input about the post book publishing era. More>

Jogging to Start, and Ending With Art - New York Times
Yes, my friend and great artist Blanka Amezkua filling the pages of the Times and the links of JuanMapu. More>

Photos by Karl Schonemann

Once again I diligently voted in the local elections. I truly believe these are more important than Presidential, but it seems that not everyone agrees with that. Few people vote during Local elections and if they do it is to elect a new Mayor. The legislative branch of government, where corruption thrives, is ignored. Legislators, however, are the most accessible politicians. They have an office in your neighborhood where you can throw rocks or leave complaint notes. These guys don't need to campaign too much, especially the incumbents. My city council district incumbent, Robert Jackson, a democrat, will get a new period easily. Republicans didn't have a candidate and Jackson is also in the ballot for the Working Families Party. He ran his democrat machine against Firma Shlimel (Libertarian Party) and my pick Julius Tajiddin (Free, Equal & Just).

As for mayor I wanted to vote for any of the candidates with no chance to win. I was between Frances Villar, the 26 years old Dominican girl from the Party for Socialism and Liberation, and Rev. Billy Talen from the Green Party. I voted for Frances --even with my girlfriend calling me a looser for that. I like her web site but most important is her will to explain Socialism to the people. She should run for City Council in the future.

In this democracy the one with money is the one that wins an election. That is why this morning I just went to have fun at the voting poll and voted for the good intentions of those trying to bring people's power to government. Here are the rest of my votes:

- Public Advocate = Maura Deluca, Socialist Worker
- City Comptroller = Salim Ejaz, Rent Is Too High (love this name)
- Manhattan President = Tom Baumann, Socialist Worker
- District Attorney = Richard M Aborn, Working Families

Sesame Street, "Precious", Eva Mendes in Soho and New York Public Library in this week's mix.

How We Got to 'Sesame Street' - New York Magazine
I forgot "Sesame Street" is a New York story. Here is a reminder. More>

Precious Is the Diary of a Sad Black Woman - Village Voice
I have gone to movies after reading a Village Voice review. "Precious" has turned into a must see movie for me. More>

New SoHo Calvin Klein billboard with Eva Mendes in sheer lingerie has residents hot and bothered - NY Daily News
Soft porn comes to billboards. Awesome. More>

Secrets of the Stacks - New York Times
The New York Public Library gave me internet during my early few money days in NYC's. Now I should see its jewels. More>

Yoko Ono, Murder in the D train, chicken soup and Green Harlem for this week's mix.

60 Minutes With Yoko Ono and Sean Lennon - New York Magazine
Yoko One has a new album and I thought about her this week. Here she is. More>

Next day stories: the D train murder - Village Voice
Bloody NYC. This a Voice's mix of the Daily News and New York Post D train Friday night murder coverage . More>

For the Soul - New York Times
If you have people from everywhere in NYC, then you have many choices of chicken soup. Have a healthy winter. More>

Affordable housing units in Harlem will become the first green block in nation - NY Daily News
This is the block where the best YMCA is located. I used to go there during a very special year of my life. Congrats. More>

El festivo de Martin Luther King Day, el verdadero holiday de los aficionados al House Music, fue de indulgencias en la cocina dominicana.

Tradicionalmente Hannah y Ricardo hacen el peregrinaje a Nueva York por amor al House Music. Desde el viernes nos encerramos en mi apartamento a beber y escuchar house music. El domingo dormimos hasta las seis de la tarde, y tipo nueve de la noche estamos bajo el encanto de los beats en honor a Dr. King. También se sabe que Ricardo va a comer Spanish Food (comida caribeña) hasta la saciedad mientras este en Nueva York. Este año los acompañamos en su tarea por culpa del restaurante Punta Cana de la esquina de la calle 162 con Broadway.

Lo descubrimos en la madrugada del sábado. Es un comedor angosto y poco caído, atendido por dos mujeres. Una barra de ocho puestos se impone a tres mesas de dos puestos que poco atraen. La clave de las barras es que la comida se ve antes de pedirla. Ese detalle es un buen aperitivo. Pedimos masitas de puerco, que Ricardo intercaló con un chivo guisado. Pocas veces se puede comer un cerdo tan tierno. Se deshizo en la boca como si fuera un dulce.

Por esa primera impresión decidimos hacer un tour gastronómico por Washington Heights. Descubrimos que los tres golpes (huevos, queso y salami) del desayuno en realidad son cuatro, solo que el Mangú es algo que no se pregunta. La Caridad #2 y Típico Dominicano pasaron la prueba, pero sin igualar a Punta Cana en frescura, sabor y ambiente.

Después del Body & Soul del domingo, tipo tres de la mañana del lunes, volvimos al Punta Cana. Hannah pidió un sancocho que puede ser el mejor in town. Lo hacen con costilla de res, pero sacan el hueso. Nuevamente la carne más blanda que un puré. Por el color verde y lo espeso parecía hecho en fogón de leña. Y por la cocinera uno puede estar en lo cierto: una doña delgada y pequeña, con andar de campesina y pañuelo de colores. Tiene el turno de la noche, que empieza a las diez.

Al otro día fuimos al Galicia, uno de los más tradicionales de los Heights. Una fusión de cocina española con caribeña. Es una buena alternativa a la hora de variar. El sabor era bueno pero la textura de nuestros platos estaba un poco seca. Tal vez haya que llegar a la hora que comienza el lunch o la cena.

En Punta Cana no importa la hora, está abierto 24/7, siempre fresco y caliente.

Dicen que lloverá por tres días seguidos. Días shitty. Para enfrentarlos con vueltas shitty como una pasada por el consulado colombiano y otra por la Corte del Estado Nueva York. Combinación maligna a simple vista.

Tengo la suerte de ser advertido. En la estación de mi casa una chica con una mochila que lleva escrito "Colombia, te quiero". Los colombianos de mi barrio se cuentan con los dedos de las manos, pero ahí estaba ella, diciéndome que la tomara con calma. Y fue fácil la experiencia. Los trámites fueron ágiles aunque costosos. Tampoco es que haya olvidado que estaba en una oficina llena de uribistas o que los funcionarios tuvieran voces menos chillonas. Nada. Lo que pasa es que la meditación y el aviso de la mochila me prepararon.

Con la corte no hubo advertencia, pero sí llegue con una atmósfera en mente. Una visita con más imaginación gracias a las buenas imágenes de Kurt Vonnegut, a quién leo ahora. Para empezar, la Corte es un edificio monumental. Desde las escaleras, bajo la lluvía, estuve entre el Sci Fi y el Noir. Los abogados, los volúmenes de jurisprudencia, el polvo, los espacios abandonados, la originalidad de cada burócrata, y los ciudadanos necesitados de documentos hicieron el resto. Los trámites tuvieron textura.

Chuletas vietnamitas y un tigre dorado antes de volver a casa.

Una noche en Nueva York comienza bien si el Viejo Mauro te da un ride en su taxi amarillo.

Con el Viejo Mauro Nueva York es más grande. Con él se habla de recientes compras de casas en Bayside, Queens, la comisión de taxis y limosinas, y el salario inicial en las agencias del gobierno. Si el Viejo Mauro te da un ride en su taxi amarillo hay que tomarlo como un presagio de lo que viene. Nueva York y más Nueva York.

El plan original es la fiesta de Mister Saturday Night en Brooklyn, con el legendario Larry Heard abordo. La cómplice elegida es Kristi, compañera de extensas jornadas de house music. Me advierte de dos paradas antes de nuestro destino final. Quiere saber un poco de los suyos.

Primera parada. Fiesta casera sin invitación. El hogar de un indiocanadiense y una egipcia que trabaja para Human Rights Watch. Es que Kristi se informa rápido. De hecho las familias del indio y la egipcia no estaban de acuerdo con esa unión. Ahora son un matrimonio próspero: dos pisos de un Brownstone, sólo para ellos. Extraña comodidad en Nueva York. Buenos anfitriones: una mesa llena de licor, quesos, aceitunas picantes y un dulce egipcio. Pasamos la medianoche, pero todavía no me entra el afán. Kristi dice que sus amigos nos darán el ride hasta Mister Saturday Night, pero después de ir a un cabaret ruso para otros reencuentros.

Segunda parada. El oceano atlántico. El restaurante Tatiana en Brighton Beach. Nueva York en ruso. Abundancia, vodka y una idea particular de la elegancia. Meseros vestidos de meseros. Banquete y rumba. Alfombras, lámparas de cristal, murales y dorado en las paredes. Kristi conoce bien a los rusos. Era pequeña cuando los soviéticos dominaron a su Estonia, pero puede asegurar que estos rusos han congelado el tiempo. Suele pasar con los inmigrantes. Lo que han freezado los rusos es el entretenimiento nocturno: Techno-pop aficionado. Cantantes encaramados en una tarima agitan la pista de baile. Uno de ellos, gordito y con lentes oscuros, se encumbra: "Si creen en lo maravilloso de este mundo, canten conmigo este coro". Lo dice en inglés, pero lo canta en ruso.

Ya son las dos de la mañana, y Larry Heard nos espera. Ahora si tengo afán. Kristi lo sabe. Plan de escape como si estuvieramos en la guerra fría. El ride ya no se dio. Nos salvamos del subway porque nos ofrecen un taxi. Ruso y barato.

Finalmente en Mister Saturday Night. Parece que Larry Heard apenas comienza a poner música. House Music de verdad. Esta noche vine a bailar. Cero alcohol, buen agua con gas. No todos bailan. Hablan y se emborrachan los sirvengüenzas, y uno tan feliz y tranquilo. Estoy contento de haber venido. Un manita con Kristi que también está a gusto. Un italiano que siguió a Kristi quiere saber quién es nuestro DJ preferido, cuál es nuestra canción preferida. Kristi pide silencio y baile. Que le obedezcan que también quiero bailar. También me gano mi italiano, que me sale mitad colombiano. Antes de esos datos me había preguntado por pastillas. A mí tan sobrio y sonriente.

Larry Heard se va. Salgamos antes de las seis para no esperar trenes estupidamente. ¿Hasta cuándo dormiré? El timing es perfecto, todos los trenes en un dos por tres. Los homeless despiertan temprano. Un adiós sin abrazo.

Un señor juega fútbol con unos niños en uniforme de colegio. Saco de la nevera una pulpa de mamey. Los novios se sientan en las piedras. La bicicleta dice que quiere salir.

Pasó el invierno. Ahora hay que pensar en evitar el próximo. Sólo acogiendo el calor hasta hacerlo mío. Sudor, sudor.

Tarde que temprano el frío me sacará de Nueva York. Me aterroriza tanto como la idea de vivir lejos de aquí, así que tiene que ser un cosa temporal.

Lejos de Nueva York. Un asunto para pensarlo dos veces. El primo Venur lleva seis años fuera de la Ciudad: "No me he amañado un solo día, igual a Nueva York no hay".

La ciudad es visual, de postales. Cuando llega el calor todo lo bueno de ella se triplica. Más imágenes, más música, más fiestas, más agua, más cuerpos expuestos, más líbido.

Hay atrevidos que se quejan del verano. Que se vayan a Alaska entonces.

El plan de un par de cervezas terminó con un apretón de manos, la barriga llena de comida y un regreso temprano a la casa. Las cervezas no fueron.

Otro plan salió tras la media vuelta y dos bloques hacia el norte de la 103. Salsa. A todo volumen en el Julia de Burgos ahí sobre la Lexington entre 105 y 106. Una cosa que pasa todos los miércoles. ¿Can I come in? Ten dollars, there is a live band there. Ok. Un salsa party en un barrio boricua de Nueva York lo merece así no haya orquesta.

El resto es un regalito pa' el corazón. "Kikiribú mandinga, kikiribú mandiga", el coro al entrar. Al menos 200 personas, 60 en la pista de baile frente a un septeto , bailando agarrados, sueltos, dando vueltas, arrebatados. Luego un bolero antillano para tomar impulso y enamorarse otra vez

Dos números más. JuanMapu alucinado y pensando a quién llamar, a quién traer. Pensando que Juampa le había preguntado por un lugar de salsa.

El remate. La orquesta termina y el DJ arranca su labor con un disco. "Electric Slide" de Marcia Griffiths para una coreografía colectiva en el dance floor. A la izquierda, hacia atrás, a la derecha, hacia delante. Todos alegremente coordinados. Cómo no querer a Nueva York, cómo no pensar que es la ciudad de mis sueños. Salsa de la nada con ñapa de disco. Maferefun Egun.

A la salida uno de esos buses blancos y azules que transportan a personas con impedimentos físicos se estacionaba.

En el budismo se insta a acumular mérito. Funciona.

Todavía por la ciudad.

Los Finest
La policía es enemigo público hasta que una alarma se dispara un domingo por la tarde. Sin el dueño del carro a la mano y la amenaza de una noche sin dormir el 911 fue nuestra tabla de salvación. Fueron necesarios seis policías y tres patrullas para recuperar la paz de la cuadra. La policía tiene el monopolio de abrir carros sin autorización aunque no sean virtuosos haciéndolo. Tardaron, pero tuvieron éxito. Nos pusieron a salvo. Los agentes del NYPD probaron que son los finest.

Baño público
Newark tiene algo sin ser Nueva York. Es peligroso. Tiene mala reputación y la desolación de las noches lo recalca. Por seguridad me dejan en la estación en la puerta de la estación de trenes. Son las cinco y media de la mañana, las personas ya salen a trabajar. Una orinada antes de subir al tren de regreso a casa. ¡Epa! Baño lleno de desamparados. Me enseñaron que es mejor no mostrar miedo, y si intentan hacer algo pues que sea una oportunidad para mostrar los cojones. Nada que ver. Hay espuma de jabón y cepillos de dientes. Los tipos están concentrados en estar frescos y limpios.

Confianza local
A mi novia le recuperaron un computador a unas cuadras de su casa. El señor Romanas, un reparador de electrónicos, me ahorró un dolor de cabeza con un nuevo aparato que tengo. Abre de lunes a sábado y es el único que está ahí. Eso no pasa en el Laundry, pero la doña lo hace rápido y lo entrega antes de que venga el señor que fuma mucho. Un litro de Chivas vale $40 en la licorería más cercana.

Clase de meditación para eliminar hábitos dañinos. Desde comerse las uñas hasta actos compulsivos como abandonar el trabajo que se tiene que hacer por unos minutos de Facebook u otras maneras de procrastinar. Nuestra guía aconseja que acojamos ese momento de inconformidad hasta reconocerlo. La intención es controlar la mente y no lo incontrolable.

Woody, el súper (conserje) del edificio de al lado, sabe de la cosa. Es un hombre dulce, local, que siempre está trabajando. Un día en el laundry room le conté mi tragedia cada vez que tengo que hacer el laundry. Se mantuvo callado mientras me quejaba lo que me relajó al punto de terminar diciendo, "...but I guess you gotta to do what you gotta do". Y Woody asintió, dijo "that's right," y siguió trabajando.

Así que Woody es un monje, un súper monje que siempre está haciendo lo que tiene que hacer. Y lo hace con gusto.

En "Timequake" Kurt Vonnegut dice que la calle es la que le ha dado todo el material de lo que escribe. Por acá pasa lo mismo, excepto cuando se atravieza una película.

Sol primaveral para ir a buscar la comida de la gata en el East Village. Un brunch contrario a mi ideología. Demasiado caro. Por la revolución es mejor entregarse a huevos a la mexicana o mangú con cebollas en los restaurantes locales. A este punto ya se que me perdí el partido del Manchester contra el Chelsea, pero puedo ver el final del Arsenal contra Wolves. Mimosa en el pub después del brunch, sin mucha revolución en la cabeza. Siento que la mañana toma un buen impulso, se hace especial.

Calle ocho para llegar al W4. Parada obligada en Disc-o-rama. Noticias: dejaron de ordenar vinilos nuevos, ahora sólo hay clásicos.

Una cagada en el Starbucks para estár relajado en el tren camino a casa.

Los turistas desocupan el tren en la parada del Museo de Historia Natural. Wow. El museo es popular, dice el hombre que queda a mi izquierda. Gracias a dios, dice el de mi derecha. Los dos son artistas. Empiezan a hablar conmigo en la mitad. El de la izquierda recomienda la exhibición de William Kentridge en el MoMa. El de la derecha habla un poco de su arte, dice que es sobre él, él y él. El de la izquierda es punzante, quiere saber más de lo que hace, le parece extraño que el de la derecha crea en el azar. Está más en el cuento de la causa y el efecto. Como yo ahora. El de la derecha dice que además escribe y nos pasa unos pequeños zines. Una muestra de una obra extensa. El zine es una maravilla, creo en cada cosa que dice. En ese zine no hubo una sola tirada de dados.
La pregunta al bajar del tren es si quedar en la mitad de estos hombre es causa y efecto o azar. La respuesta es causa y efecto. Tener vida espiritual.

Una semana ocupada, de 5 horas de sueño por día y hasta menos.

Greenpoint: Mi amigo Christopher Cardinale presenta su libro "Mr. Mendoza's Paintbrush", una novela gráfica basada en una historia de Luis Alberto Urrea. Mientras espero la presentación tres jovenes mujeres se reunen en un café para planear algo. La imagen juega a recuerdo hasta que caigo en cuenta que sentir nostalgia por la escena está fuera de lugar. El libro de Christopher se lee en una sentada.

Otra vez Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy y Bushwick: Un ritual de iniciación, como cualquier otra celebración, tiene todo para terminar a las seis de la mañana. Viernes y sábado tienen el mismo horario por razones diferentes. El pensamiento aterrador es que el cuerpo haya registrado ese horario para el domingo.

Manhattan: Nada se parecerá a Manhattan. Es Nueva York imaginado. Luxury NYC aunque se coman tacos de camión a las cinco de la mañana, borrachos vomiten el subway o un chico lleve un televisor en bicicleta a las seis de la mañana (en Brooklyn otro chico llevaba un dvd player mientras pedaleaba). La pregunta ante los imponentes edificios del Upper West Side es ¿Quién putas vive allí? Una señora le limpia el culo a un perro. Alguien entrega a la calle toda su colección de inútiles laser discs. Una comida de hamburguesas quedó en la agenda.

June Kosloff, Harold & Maude

La hoja de vida de June Kosloff dice que hace parte del comité directivo de una organización de artistas con enfermedades mentales. ¿Algún artista con esas características? Difícil saber cuál es. Me acuerdo de Baudrillard cuando dice que en Nueva York los locos están sueltos. Puedo señalar a la Carola o a la Sol o Antoñito. Pero seguro es la mujer del vestido rojo. La que quiere que los monos estén en una pared roja y en marcos dorados. La que dice que soy muy cute y se alista para la ópera poniéndose un chal rosado. Ella de neoyorquina tiene eso de hablar aleatoriamente con uno.

Se acabó el Mundial. ¡Vaya problema! Pensé que venía un descanso merecido tras el deber patológico cumplido. Nada que ver. El fin del Mundial puso más presente la realidad de ser fuerza de trabajo. Contradicciones en mi pensamiento como derrumbe en carretera del trópico.

Cubrir el Mundial (a la distancia, pero diariamente) me dejó claro para que soy bueno. O al menos que es lo que puedo hacer para vivir. Esa certeza acosa.

Obatala para la paciencia. Elegba para la ruta correcta.

La situación que soporto es velar la gobernabilidad corporativa. Como el director Skinner en Los Simpsons, tengo que prender la alarma de pensamiento independiente. Sin ser director, solo un humilde labriego del HTML. Sapo como ciudadano de Arizona. Tengo que decirle no a Julito cada vez que se sale de la caja. Eso duele. Más si es un latino porque a un blanco va y viene. Si no tuviera este blog acumularía tanto que fácil terminaría matando al gerente de la compañía. Con una pistola con silenciador como lo vi en El Custodio, una película argentina.

Fechas límite. Consulta y acción. Un palo que se asoma. Algo tiene que morir de todos modos. Swa.

Varios tuvieron un buen domingo. En la era de las redes sociales todo se sabe. Hubo encuentros cercanos con la felicidad.

Mi domingo estuvo movido. Hace rato que no hacía tantas cosas. Así lo quería. Sentir que aprovechaba el tiempo, la ciudad. Desde temprano. Un calle desnocida, un nuevo paseo por el Jardín Botánico de El Bronx, un árbol con buena sombra, luego el fútbol, terminar bailando house con la comunidad, Louie Vega a cargo del sermón musical.

Hice tweets de casi todo, excepto del texto de Roberto Bolaño. Tampoco de la película de Kieslowski. La revista Harper's es la que me viene dando las dosis de Bolaño. En inglés que por supuesto no debe ser lo mismo que en español, pero es suficiente. Así voy bien. Ensayo personal sobre la enfermededad y el escritor. En el final dice que "Kafka entendió que los viajes, el sexo y los libros son caminos que llevan a ninguna parte excepto a la pérdida de sí mismo, pero que así y todo deben ser seguidos y ese ser deber perderse para poder encontrarlo de nuevo, o encontrar algo, lo que sea -un libro, una expresión, un objeto mal puesto-- para poder encontrar algo, un método, quizas, y, con un poco de suerte, lo nuevo, que ha estado allí".

Las películas de Kieslowski las administro de una por año. La elegida de este año fue "Camera Buff" con el maravilloso Jerzy Stuhr. Un obrero de pueblo se vuelve cineasta después de comprar una cámara con la que registraría la vida de su primogénita. Se pierde en la cámara, en las imágenes en movimiento. Quiere hacer películas día y noche. Le confiesa a su esposa que encontró algo valioso para su vida. Ella lo abandona. Sus amigos le dicen que lo que hace es hermoso. Se mete en la denuncia. Su jefe le muestra el daño que hizo cuando quiso hacer tantas cosas públicas. Destruye una película sobre su pueblo. Vuelve a la idea original de la vida de su hija recién nacida.

Parece cuestión de las dosis que se toman.

Mensajes del más allá. En pleno Bicentenario declaré independencia de Colombia aunque no fuera estrictamente eso. El florero de mi causa independentista también es insignificante.

Estaba advertido. Por mi hermano hace mucho tiempo, pero hace poco por el Almirante José Prudencio Padilla vía Manuel Zapata Olivella.

"Ahora, fusilado y ahorcado por los aristócratas, espero que mis descendientes accionen los cañones que no disparé aquella mañana en Cartagena".

Obvio que tampoco los voy a disparar. Solamente contra cualquier demonio del corazón.
¿Qué pasó? Nada importante. Tengo tan buena fe que no creo en la mala fe de otros. Me he dado un baño de realidad. Olvidé que hace rato Changó me puso a cumplir mi mandato liberador en la boca de la loba blanca. Justo aquí, bajo un sistema de control, los Ekobios han vuelto a encontrar los misterios. Aquí se revela la traición continua de los criollos. Trato de olvidarlo, de hacerme el loco, ser parte del asunto, traicionar también. Esa venda siempre se cae. Nadie la aprieta fuerte. Mis ojos grandes vuelven a verlo todo y mi corazón pregunta cada vez que Eshu juega sus trucos. Aquí estoy para aprender y descubrir caracter. De eso pende el buen regreso y la liberación definitiva.

"Si usted va llegando vayase entonando/Que de baile en baile se va acomodando/De día en la plaza, corrida de toros/de noche casetas, sin hembras ni modo".
Orquesta Guayacan, "Oiga, Mire, Vea", canción de la Feria de Cali.

En el diccionario una definición de caseta es "construcción provisional desmontable, que se destina a espectáculos, diversiones, etc., en las fiestas populares".

En las ferias de Colombia se expanden por cuadras o se apoderan de la plaza central. Compiten por la venta de licor. Ofrecen mesas y espacios para bailar. En unos pueblos comparten la música de la tarima principal, en otros cada una tieno su propio sistema de sonido.