* JuanMapu - Vida en Nueva York

Japanase place with Spanish music. Descubrimiento de caminata disipadora. Y solo fueron dos bloques. Vegetales griliados con un poco, muy poco, de seafood y puerco. Hojas de furikake para adornar.

Caminata disipadora para contar un nuevo día de los últimos días. A pocos días de la sumisión total. El adiós. Ya sé que llegaré tarde a ver a mi equipo campeón y presiento que ni me importará. Me gustaría que los visitantes lo entendieran. Todo es posible como me lo dijo Diego León en la cafetería de El Tiempo. Supo que iba hacer todo lo que quería cuando pisó el teatro y bailó con Fanny por primera vez. Magia.

¿Es espera? Parece otra cosa, y como es tan secreto, los sentimientos son distintos. Poderoso saber que me lo he guardado. Pero sí lo siento venir. Tengo cuenta regresiva por más calmado que me vea y hay veces que me da hipo y tics.

Sing it: "It's over, it's over now."

The Doors en tres y dos minutos. La intención era tener un día tranquilo bajo el amparo de la menguante entrada la noche anterior. Imposible. El rumbo comenzó a cambiar cuando celebré una condena pública del Departamento de Tránsito. Algo diferente a un ticket. Papel verde fluorescente para los ciudadanos de malas costumbres. ¿Cómo es que no dejan barrer la calle completica?. En fin. Botánica cerrada, rotación sobre la propia órbita, las bancas bajo la sombra en el separador de la Broadway. Actualización del diario. Un amigo textea que vio a un niño igual a mí en la clase de su hija.

Today's R-tronika makes me think on Revenge of the Nerds. Beyond of get it right with the bass addition, the Latin danceable percussion, and the female background vocals --finally Renzo Ortega found a way to share the mic--, it is a story of personality, dedication and courage. Forget about the aesthetical discrimination era, R-tronika now belongs to the world of music proposals highlighting gigs. Anyone searching for the next level would like to get along with them.

The ways of East Coast people have always amuse me since I live in NYC. Today, after work, I looked for some stuff at the Cristedes supermarket on University Place between 9th and 8th Streets. I don't know why I keep trying that market since It has never work for me, but today, after I got out there, one of those scenes happened.

I decided to walk 9th street towards the Citarella market on 6th Avenue when I heard "watch it!". I turned already knowing the warn wasn't for me and within seconds I saw a girl biker trying not to fall after failing to evade an old lady that just fell down. It was raining and getting dark.

Jardín Botánico de El Bronx. Los colores del otoño que aparecen y la tierra está fría. Inevitable la temporada de capas en el cuerpo.

El pantano huele a pantano. El bosque suena a río. Por el camino de azalea hasta un colina soleada para poder hablar. Cruzamos un puente. Esto también lo hicimos antes.

"Luego decidiremos". Porque por ahora tenemos mucho de qué hablar, muchos árboles para sentarnos, muchas flores que oler. El amor nos distrae.

Jardín Botánico de El Bronx. Los benévolos dicen que puedo ir al Jardín así ellos no estén. Con los ojos abiertos.

Como a cualquier otro, repudio las filas. Las peores son las que uno tiene que anticipar aunque la de las 718 Sessions de Danny Krivit valen la pena: uno llega una hora antes de que abran para estar entre los 100 primeros y solo pagar $5. Con las detestables he aprendido a relajarme observando a los furiosos. La oficina de correo de mi casa está llena de estos y con justa razón: abren a las ocho pero solo hasta las diez abren la ventanilla para reclamar los paquetes que negligentemente no dejan en casa.

El martes llegué quince minutos antes de las diez. Fui el sexto en llegar. La séptima persona, una mujer de India, profesora del CUNY, abrió el debate : "It doesn't makes sense". Es que la mayoría trabajamos nine to five, para venir a las diez tenemos que avisar en el trabajo o venir los sábados, "But what if you work on Saturdays", dijo la quinta persona, un gordito con un carro de mercado y varias capas de ropa, que solo esperaba que prendieran la mecha.

My People

--Langston Hughes

Los primeros gritos salieron por las ventanas. "Obama, Obama". Un vecino agitó la cuadra con un "Obama, Obama" más gutural. Paseaba el perro. Era un poco después de las 10. La Reina avisó de fiesta en el Saint Nick's, pero estaba con mis guerreros pidiéndoles por Obama y los "Obama, Obama".

Saint Nicholas a cacerolazos y "Obama, Obama". Amsterdan a cacerolazos y "Obama, Obama". Broadway a cacerolazos y "Obama, Obama".

Mi Edgecombe callada. Confundida con los gritos lejanos que venían de la 125, del edificio estatal dedicado a Adam Clayton Powell. Como si se hubiera presentado la multitud fantasma de los Polo Grounds, celebrando la atrapada de Willie Mays en la Serie Mundial de 1954.

"Power to the people, power to the people".

Pólvora y gritos que me dejan dormir tranquilo.

New York is changing and it feels like there is no time to noticed it.

A couple of months ago I ran out of journals --it is better to say that I completed my first journal-- so I went to the Kinokuniya Bookstore at Rockefeller Center to get one of those Japanese notebooks, similar to Moleskines but with more color and less bounded, but what to my disappointment there was no more Kinokuniya. Later I found in Google they closed at the end of 2007 but opened a new store in Sixth Avenue between 40th and 41st, with a broader Asian appeal instead of the Japanese specialized one. Good to know, I said. I have to visit it, I said.

Two weeks I walked Bedford Avenue for the first time in months. You can tell I am not a big fan of Williamsburg so I limited my visits there while ago besides the good food with prices one can find there. Still, I do have good recounts of Bedford Avenue since I lived in Williamsburg when I moved to NYC. One was stopping by Clovis Press, a great independent bookstore where I put my first zines. In 2006 I found it was closed and replaced with a cheese store (?). Recently I found a journal entry from one of the former employees about the closing and it explains why it closed and have not re open in a new location. Now I know why, I said.

But in my last walk I was hit in my stomach when I found that another business was gone. The place where Mexican grocery store Matamoros is now a Ricky's Costume as Racked.com reported on October 1st. Matamoros was famous for the kitchen in the back of the store. It was about good and cheap tacos y tostadas, with Jarritos in the fridge. This is sad, I said.

My first published article in English was a review of three taquerias --including Matamoros-- in Williamsburg for one of the first issues of Block Magazine back in 2003. I remember I wrote something about the three comadres talking in the back or something like that. Now that Matamoros is gone I just feel like going home, find the article and hug it. I might framed it or I would simply put it back in the folder where I hope it is.

The gone places are telling me something about my own history in the city. I have never been a guy attached to stuff and sure we all need to get rid of the past, but keeping things I wrote is important in order know where I am going or where I have been. Like New York, I have change and sometimes there is no time to noticed it, but unlike those business I still around, evolving and being able to track the path in case I forget something I need. That way I can ask my spirits the exact things.

More on gone places. Angelica's Herb was located on the northwest corner of First Avenue and 9th Street. At some point between September and December closed and moved to Brooklyn (22 Tompkins Avenue). I discovered it this summer and now is gone. It was a sunny magical Sunday afternoon when suddenly It was in front of me bright and huge. I went in and found a place full of herbs and oils, just what I needed at that time. A reliable place to get natural medicine --the lady that ran it was a cold woman that cannot hide her healer aura. But I still very naive and think those places last forever and went there just once. I got a lavender oil. Amazing smell.

A couple of things from a loud Latina in her forties, walking with a cane. Train A Uptown.

1. On bags.
"I am a bag lady, you'll see me with a bag...always."

2. On the racist cartoon from the New York Post.
"They don't understand is Obama's time. They'll soon get it."

*****************
...And on president Obama's performance:

1. A retiree at the doctor's office.
"I listened to his speech. The kid is doing it right."

2. A woman giving advice to some dude in his cubicle.
"You do what Obama is telling you to do".

So I am finally out. It was very hectic to wait a month for my first day without a FT job but I did it somehow. I know I've been exaggerating with that funeral metaphor and all that but people: I just had a fun day. I did a lot of things. Here is an account:

• I woke up late (around 9:30 a.m.) but will try to get up earlier since is so fun to not go to the office.

• I found my apartment is a mess so I started to take care of things by organizing a couple of kitchen cabinets.

• I cooked a sancocho soup.

• I helped a neighbor by giving him a wire hanger.

• I bumped into JW in front of our buildings and got a photo next to Laila at 5 p.m.!!

• I nailed a gig and some other interesting projects.

• I discovered a nice café -with a huge TV screen showing soccer- at 110th Street and Central Park West or Frederic Douglas Ave.

As for those wondering about my last day of work I just have to say that unlike when you quit a job, you don't get a goodbye lunch when they let you go. I guess victory is victory and adversity is adversity.

Amsterdam Avenue is kinda creepy and defiant but it gets smoother as you get close to City College. From 159th to 140th Streets it has a myriad of restaurants most of them Dominican and Jamaican and there is also an Ecuadorian place and couple of Mexican joints.

If you walk those blocks on a sunny day like today you will bump into many pastelitos cars and most of the barber shops are having a BBQ in the street.

There is a local bookstore that host educational workshops like "How to manage your finances right"; a bike shop managed by a diligent man with a glass eye; a fabrics store; a healthy foods place combine with a laundry; and a botánica, which reminds me to mention that there is a cemetery between 155th and 156th streets.

Today I found a small café with good pastry that also sells books. The place is really small but somehow manage to host a writers workshop ($5 bucks each session) and movie evenings.

The sad thing today was to see a bunch of undercover cops coming out after sunset like rats and roaches. They randomly picked up people and searched them, making clear they don't know what the warmest day in months is about it.

Yesterday was so beautiful and I relax so much that I naively forget to protect myself enough from the wind and now I am suffering a relapse from the cold I was having.

I believe I've been very open since past week, feeling like getting into a cosmic consciousness state that I really like a lot, but being sick at the same time feels like mixing substances in a party.

Or may be is the vibe I got after watching Carlos Mayolo's "Agarrando Pueblo (The Vampires of Poverty)."

I went out for a lil bit and I saw a couple of my freak neighbors: The blond man who wears black and has a hat like the guy from Rene Magritte picture; and the tall man with mystic rings and necklaces that somehow talks to you but is difficult to realize that a conversation with him is happening.

In the elevator a woman asked me where do I live and how is the neighborhood for living. Having some difficulties with my speech and after seeing those characters I found her latest question strange. I put my hands in my face forgetting that I was wearing contractor gloves.

"It is fun here," I said.

It is magical that is bright and warm outside. Today is soccer day...soccer on tv I mean.

A week of little lessons:

• Sometimes one tries to work on specific projects you want to start developing, but at the end of the day you finish working on stuff that requires your specific skills and knowledge. That is development.

• Heights have fresh air and remote sounds.

• Most of fruits and roots can be pickled.

• If I'm tired, I might look unhappy.

• You don't need to be in love to love someone. (I am quoting my roommate.)

• Harlem is a good place for cheap cell phones.

• Lawyers and computer's people are good comedians.

• There is no such thing as Western Culture.

One more original neighbor is moving out and I can't help to think is one more sign of gentrification. It is sad, just hoping it was her decision. She is the mother of two.

And I don't want to think who are going to be the new ones.

Although around here we don't get hipsters like in Brooklyn, most of these new ones want the neighborhood to change. They're all up for signs of security, cool cafés, pan Asian restaurants and yoga classes (nothing against.) They want to have the New Brooklyn uptown, but what about just making life better either in Brooklyn or here in the Heights.

What bothers me is the minimal sense of community these ones have. They do want to transform the neighborhood in order to make it better and profitable for them without being part of it, which makes me thing yoga is not a good thing for our neighborhood. They don't have the Gandhi approach, like Superstar and JW, of start living like them to feel like them and set a life after that. (Well, they don't go all the way like Gandhi, but they do try the food and the clothes and the music and want to try some sexy love too.)

JW is right. The thing is about being part of the neighborhood. I believe the key thing in activism is to find a way to love what is around, show some respect, then think on how to move on and work towards enhancement. Before yoga and delicious Thai food I want to see affordable housing, apartments free of lead painting plus safe and clean parks and people educating supermarket and bodega managers about plastic bags.

********
The new bakery is not as cool as the one before and has no baguettes, but fuck it: it stills a local entrepreneurship situation.

********
I am proud of one of the pastelitos guy saying to me "long time no see you." That means my diet is in the right path and that I'm his pal.

Luther Vandross' "Never too much" is one of favorites soul tunes ever. It is catchy and the lyrics are a love celebration with amazing lines like "Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started/I called you up, but you weren't there and I was broken hearted/Hung up the phone, can't be too late, the boss is so demandin'/Opened the door up and to my surprise there you were standin'." It definitely deserves to be included in my DJ sets, at least for the 6 a.m. one.

I had never seen its video until today. It has street shots showing people hooked into walkmans and boomboxes. It is interesting that besides the huge technological differences between walkman and ipods the image stills the same: someone walking around with headphones.

As for boomboxes, When did they stop being that popular? Did they become annoying? Were they inciting too much social life? Check it out:

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.

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.

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.

I was told archeologists look for the garbage deposits of the old cities they find so they can get information about people's lifestyles.

Lately, I am been putting more attention to my worn out clothes and sneakers. If you couldn't write in your journal for a day I suggest you to take a photo of your sneakers soles. They can tell you all. They will remind you the broken glass of that street you walked and the guy that swept it. They have the kissing while dancing from last Saturday.

As for the fading blue of your jeans think about the hugs you got on that sunny day. Or your run to the subway station when it was pouring.

The salty boots will take to the best chocolate or vodka you ever have.

They carry all. They'll tell you what is gone too.

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."

The boys opened the fire hydrant and a little girl with beautiful curly hair immediately went there to jump around it. Refreshed happiness.

I normally don't like to see an open hydrant. Water waste. I even have called the city's emergency line to get them closed.

Yesterday was 92º. I wanted to get wet too!

Some feet away from the hydrant and the curly little girl, a man seated in a chair put a foot in the water path that was running through the edge of the sidewalk.

"Look up what they gonna put next to you...That hot thing," said his mate with disdain when he saw the white Chevrolet Lumina being parked right on their spot.

Of course there is a reason to be disappointed! It is easy to tell the feeling of that man when he put his foot in the water. 92º. He blessed the boys. I wanted to put my foot too! Only one and be as happy as the curly little girl! 92º.

That white motorized hot thing. How come?

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.