Okay, so, was it just me or was George Clooney’s date having the worst night of her life?  And please tell me someone else saw Gabourey Sidibe telling the TV cameras that she’d “hit that” when someone pointed out Gerard Butler.  Then the announcer called Gerard over and made Gabourey repeat it.  On national TV.  In front of her mother.  Yeah, it was funny but I’m just saying. Someone get her a publicist.

“I can change your life (beat).  Upgrade your Blackberry to an iPhone.”  From a dude to a lady walking down the street.

“If I know you, I won’t shoot at you.”

At the local diner this morning:  A woman walks inside to ask for napkins for her runny nose– it’s 17 degrees.  Meanwhile her homegirl holds the door to the diner wide open for her. First woman proceeds to strike up a conversation with the cashier and her homegirl outside (”Ya’ll serve breakfast up in here?”  “Girl, they got breakfast! You ever ate here!?”).  Dude next to me at the register says what I’m thinking: “Let the door go!  It’s cold!”).  Their priceless reply?  “Shut up!  Zip yo’ damn coat up!”  I should have eaten breakfast at home.

I’ve seen it all now.  I can safely retire from Harlem living.  On 125th street, in broad daylight with plenty of people walking by, I saw a man take a leak on (yes, on) a parked SUV.  I don’t know what else to say.  To answer your most obvious question: No, he was not trying to be discreet in any possible way.  I walked by again later– the SUV had a dark triangle on it’s side.  Evidence that I didn’t make the whole thing up. -smh-

“Hey!  I see you!  I see you, gurl, wit’ yo’ baseball bat legs!  I see you, gurl!”:

Her: “Why you get upset like that!?”

Him: “What? I wasn’t mad! I talk loud all the time, on the regular!”

A tall security guard in a heavy coat moaning and groaning– when I got closer I realized he was working out. Without weights. While making noises as if he had weights.

My test drive of the Lexus hardtop convertible. Loving it!

My elderly male neighbor rolling a joint in the hallway window at 11am.

“Judas?? I haven’t gotten that far in my Bible on CD yet.”

Teen boy to a passing teen girl: “Hey. (beat) Hey! (and when she still won’t turn around) I swear to my mom I look good!

My test drive of the Cadillac Escalade Platinum Hybrid. Luxe to the Nth degree.

More fun on the racetrack!

This was even more fun than it looked– if you can imagine that! Click HERE for part two!

Click HERE for part two!

So, I saw Karaoke Boy again two nights ago.  Same spot.  Same boom box.  New hat.  This time he had an older couple crowding him in awe.  He smiled and chatted but the second the song playing on the boom box edged toward the chorus, he took a step back and started belting it out, right on cue.  The couple stayed.  Probably waiting for him to pause again, so they could ask him more questions.  No, I did not take a picture.  C’mon, it was dark out!

With car consumers pinching pennies, it’s good to know you can still get a quality ride, for less.  Case in point: Nissan has revved up its lower-priced models so that in 2010 you can save money without settling.  Here are a few of the best affordable rides from Nissan’s lineup.

By SékouWrites

SENTRA: Even though the Sentra is one of its lower-priced cars, Nissan did not scrimp on the details.  Press a button on the steering wheel, for example, and a voice will ask if you want to connect your cell phone.  Say “yes” aloud and the Sentra will automatically find your Bluetooth phone.  As someone who has spent inordinate amounts of time pulled over on the side of the road trying to get my phone connected in much higher-priced cars, I was extremely impressed.  The low price tag, smooth ride, and fun range of exterior colors are equally impressive, too.?  (18-23 mpg city, 27-32 mpg hwy.  Starts at $15,420.  nissanusa.com/sentra)

ALTIMA: The Altima is Nissan’s best-selling sedan for good reason, and with Nissan’s tweaks to the 2010 Altima coupe’s interior, sales are sure to skyrocket.  A sexy red leather interior, sleek styling, and a navigation screen that slides down to allow access to the DVD player are only a few of the options that will have the new Altima turning heads.  I was so busy fiddling with the gadgets that I actually got lost in this one.  Yes, in my hometown.  So make sure you check out all the bells and whistles before you hit the road.?  (24-26 mpg city, 31-34 mpg hwy.  Starts at $22,440.  nissanusa.com/altima)

MAXIMA: Even those who don’t know much about Nissan have heard of the Maxima.  Long considered Nissan’s fabulous flagship sedan, the 2010 model is an even prettier mix of sedan and sports car.  From interior touches like dashboard-mounted navigation buttons (a bit more convenient than the touch screen) to paddle shifters (for your inner race car driver) to exterior details like a double moon roof and distinctive lighting, the Maxima continues to be one of the best cars in its price class.  ?(19 mpg city, 26 mpg hwy. Starts at $30,460.  nissanusa.com/maxima)

Want to see what they look like? Click here for the photo gallery.

Why come (yes, I said it) are the saggy pants kids moving on to saggy backpacks? Today, I saw two different kids wearing backpacks that were dangling very close to the ground. It goes without saying that they had to keep their hands in their pants pockets to keep the backpack from falling.  Seems like too much work but I guess form follows function in matters of, er, fashion.

Ok, so … you may have seen some pictures floating around of me with a big ole coconut.  Yeah.  Let me explain.  See, what had happened was: I went to the Antilia Carnival 2010 Celebration the other week at the Tribeca Rooftop down on Hudson St.  Now, I’m not very savvy on Caribbean culture, so I was surprised and tickled when I saw that there were tables of coconut water drinks.  Maybe I should have expected that at a Carnival-inspired event but I didn’t.  Anyway, it was a nice touch.  Cute, even.  But it was just coconut water.  At a party?  C’mon now.  Chuckling as I sped past these tables on my way to the bar for a “real” drink, I couldn’t help but notice a single table piled high with coconuts.  Yes, real coconuts.  I thought this was just ambiance for the event but when I came closer to ask about it, the guy behind the table skillfully chopped open a coconut and handed it to me with a straw.  Uhm, thanks, I thought.  What the hell am I going to do with this huge thing all night?  But after a sliding a tip across the back bar, the bartender filled (and I mean filled) my whole coconut with rum.  Man, I didn’t put that thing down all night.  Everyone was jealous.  Even the co-host of the event (Wendy Fitzwilliam) commented on my coconut concoction from the stage.  Nope, she didn’t get a sip either.  Back off, tall chick.  And, yes, I took the coconut home.  I’m saving it for the next party.  Better than a flask.  Thanks to Andrea Skerritt and the folks of Antilia for the invite.  See pics from the event HERE, and read the story about the gig, HERE.

So, I have a new category for my crazy Harlem blog (the aptly named, Harlem Ain’t for Amateurs).  The new category is called Harlem Hollahs.  And, yes, it is exactly what it sounds like.  I’ve overheard some of the funniest pick-up lines in my life since I’ve been living in Harlem.  And I’ve been selfish by not sharing them.  Here is your first dose!

1. “Mmmph! Chocolate AND vanilla!” As I was walking down 125th with two women, one brown-skinned and one light-skinned.

2. “Hey bow-leg, why you ain’t call me??”  No, she did not have bowlegs and she’d only seen him once before- the last time he tried to hollah at her.

3. “Guuurl, just let me be your left shoe!”  Uh, I have no words.

My nomination for the coolest celebrity award goes to D-Nice.  Why?  Two reasons.  First off, he’s mad laid back.  At the recent Hennessy Artistry concert featuring Common and The Roots at NYC’s Terminal 5, D-Nice actually avoided the red carpet and walked behind the paparazzi to chat with folks like me (see the pic).  He’s an unassuming, avoid the spotlight kind of cat.  Matter of fact, he didn’t say a thing when some guy cut in front of him in the VIP line.  Security said something, though.  They almost knocked that dude to the ground to get D-Nice into the building.  “That man right there is a legend,” one of the security guys yelled at the offender.  Indeed, he is, and he’s humble.   Second, he’s smart.  D-Nice and I first met years ago when we were working on a feature story for UPTOWN Magazine about talented, Harlem-based performers.  I did the interviews while D-Nice photographed them.  During the down time between interviews, we chatted about life and times and he happened to explain that he’s been able to monetize all of his hobbies.  In other words, what he used to do for fun (DJ’ing, photography, web design, etc.) he now gets paid to do.  I’ve always remembered that lesson and to this day I try to keep a check coming in from anything I do outside my day job.  Thanks for the advice, D.  See you in the next VIP line?

I haven’t seen Karaoke Boy in so long I’d forgotten about him but on Saturday night, as I walked down Lenox Ave. to check out the Fedor MMA fight at a friend’s house, there he was. In case I haven’t blogged about Karakoe Boy before (I can’t remember), he’s a young man of about 20 years old who stands in front of an abandoned pharmacy at 139th and Lenox with a boom box, singing his heart out. Any song that comes on the radio, Karaoke Boy will sing. Hook, lead, background vocals, all of it. I’m not sure why he does it. I think he’s trying to get discovered and, to be honest, he’s a good singer. On Saturday night he’d even inspired an old man with a cane to take off one of his shoes (not sure why that was necessary) and dance along as best he could– comedy. The crazy part? I saw Karaoke Boy around 8:45pm when I was walking down to catch the pre-fights which started at 9pm. Fedor whupped his opponent around 11pm. So, when I was walking back up Lenox around midnight I was shocked to see that Karaoke Boy was still at it. Still dancing with the boom box perched on his right shoulder and still singing at the top of his lungs. Now, that’s stamina. Maybe he will get discovered indeed.

That was me in the intro to the WHY HE DIDN’T CALL YOU BACK segment of The Today Show (I’m in the hat). For those of you who commented about my “sunny-side-up cell phone” line (LOL!), what I meant was: Don’t be putting your cell phone on the table …

So, if you saw my two seconds of fame on The Today Show (supporting Rachel Greenwald’s new book), you’ll appreciate my cameo on “Nightline” (below). I’m racking up the colorful phrases, aren’t I? This particular phrase needs no explanation, though– “Nightline” did the explaining for me!

So, years ago, I decided to try and define my brand of eroticism by muted expressions of subtle sensuality rather than the raucous sex that readers usually expect.  The result?  A series of published short stories that (I hope) stood out for their delicate erotic touch.  Collected here, these mildly …

HARLEM HAUTE

Second annual SékouWrites end-of-summer (last a*s minute) book signing!

Sponsored by:
UPTOWN life.net

Hosted by:
Bevy Smith

Date:
Thursday, August 20

Time:
6:30 PM

Location:
BBraxton Salon
1400 Fifth Avenue at West 116th Street
Harlem, New York 10026
212.369.3094
www.bbraxton.com

Price:
Free with book purchase. Open vodka bar provided by Belvedere Vodka.

Please note:
A limited number of books will be sold on site ($20 each). …

Sometimes the things I overhear in Harlem shock me. Less these days but still, sometimes they get me. This week I walked past a trio of brothers on 125th Street discussing how to best dispose of bodies. Nice. Now, this must have been braggadocio because anyone who has ever seen a cop show knows you don’t talk about that kind of thing on the street, right?

And then there was another dude on 125th who tapped a woman on her arm to get her to take her headphones off. He wanted her full attention so that he could say something profound to her: “Sup, ma?” She kinda rolled her eyes and said, “I’m going somewhere,” before walking away. He says, giving chase with his boys in tow, “We ALL going somewhere, ma, I’m saying,” and as she pops her ear bud back in her ear he announces to his boys, “That’s wifey material right there!” Uh, sure, I guess, just as soon as she stops rolling her eyes at you. Or maybe she’ll come around by the time you tap her again at the next street corner. Persistence pays.

So, my co-worker Aviv has been sending me shots of craziness in Harlem since she found out about my Harlem blog.  I just had to start posting them.  First up?  Ladies and gentlemen, meet “Creamology” (no, I did not make that up). More to come soon.  Thanks, Aviv!

I’m outside on 125th (naturally) and this dude motors up to the front of a nearby clothing store in his electric wheelchair just as someone else is leaving the store.  The guy coming out of the store doesn’t hold the door for the wheelchair-guy to motor in, which seems rude, but wait… As soon at the guy exiting the store walks by, the wheelchair guy jumps up, walks into the store, browses around and then comes back out, hops into the chair and motors away.  So, what, did he borrow his boy’s chair like it was a car?  “Yo, dawg, lemmie get that chair. I gotta run to the store.”  -smh-

Another story from the front door of my office. Three of us are talking when a guy rolls up on us with a red doo-rag on his head and the glazed, unblinking stare of someone accustomed to drug-use. He’s looking for the cell phone store. We tell him it’s next door. He blinks and then follows up with, “What ya’ll do up in here?” This is touchy for several reasons but mainly because our office has been robbed before. So, we ignore him. He persists. We ignore. He steps it up, physically encroaching on our space and mumbling about being disrespected. One of us finally turns to him and asks what he’s talking about. He mumbles something about how to get money: “Asking, begging … or taking!” Awkward pause. Our spokesperson reminds him that he doesn’t want to go to jail for anything stupid. The guy claims to have 25 years of jail time under his belt. Now he wants to know what we do again. We remind him that the cell phone place is next door. He finally shuffles in that direction. Nice. I need to start brown bagging my lunch.

So, out on 125th Street I just saw an old head (like, 50-ish) wearing a red Pro Trainer t-shirt, a straw hat, and red boxing gloves. He was running backwards down the middle of the street while people on the curb whooped and hollered sounds of encouragement.  Then he stopped , screamed something to them about talking sh*t but being able to back it up (as in: he’s capable of backing up his own trash talk) and then hustled down the street with his red boxing gloves pumping up and down.

Saturday: Harlem’s M35 bus makes a hard turn and a sweaty bum falls on me. It took several long moments of my hands bracing against his sweat-stained shirt and his full weight digging into my knee before he finally gets himself off me.  Finally upright, he curses the bus driver but doesn’t say boo to me, even though I’m clearly still in pain.  The driver says nothing to either of us. Now, do I stalk and harass the bum, or the driver?  Decisions to be made.  Paintball guns to be bought.  Traps to be set.

HARLEM HAUTE

Second annual SékouWrites end-of-summer (last a*s minute) book signing!

Sponsored by:
UPTOWN life.net

Hosted by:
Bevy Smith

Date:
Thursday, August 20

Time:
6:30 PM

Location:
BBraxton Salon
1400 Fifth Avenue at West 116th Street
Harlem, New York 10026
212.369.3094
www.bbraxton.com

Price:
Free with book purchase. Open vodka bar provided by Belvedere Vodka.

Please note:
A limited number of books will be sold on site ($20 each). First come, first served.  Can’t make it?  Order a copy anyway!!! Link below.  And those of you with unsigned copies of When Butterflies Kiss, feel free to bring those, too.

The book?
The Sound of Silk at Midnight: These short stories promise to titillate and tease reader’s imaginations with the elusive prospect of sensual possibility. Because not everyone likes their erotica rough.

Order online at: silkatmidnight.com
More about WBK: whenbutterflieskiss.com

You’re not gonna believe me, but here we go: Yesterday I saw a tall black woman wearing back and white checkered converse sneakers with hot pink trim.  She was also wearing black and white from her neck to her ankles.  Mostly white, with lots of black and white checkerboard patterns.  Like, a white t-shirt with a black and white checkered vest, for example.  The coup dé grace?  Her hair was spray painted to match.  Yes.  Her close cropped do was plastered to her head in kind of half rainbow  of white, pink, and black stripes. -smh-  I know, I know, I should have taken a picture.  She probably would have been happy to pose.  I wonder … does she wear those three colors every day so she can continue to match her hair?  Hmm.

So, years ago, I decided to try and define my brand of eroticism by muted expressions of subtle sensuality rather than the raucous sex that readers usually expect.  The result?  A series of published short stories that (I hope) stood out for their delicate erotic touch.  Collected here, these mildly erotic short stories promise to titillate and tease reader’s imaginations with the elusive prospect of erotic possibility.  From floating boats with satin sheets, to the sparkles of a tiara in the dim light of a bar, there is nothing in this anthology that is too sacred or too ordinary for sexual inspiration.  Because not everyone likes their erotica rough.

(CLICK HERE FOR ORDERING INFO)

So, if you saw my two seconds of fame on “The Today Show” (supporting Rachel Greenwald’s new book), you’ll appreciate my cameo on “Nightline” (below). I’m racking up the colorful phrases, aren’t I? This particular phrase needs no explanation, though– “Nightline” did the explaining for me!

That was me in the intro to the WHY HE DIDN’T CALL YOU BACK segment of The Today Show (I’m in the hat). For those of you who commented about my “sunny-side-up cell phone” line (LOL!), what I meant was: Don’t be putting your cell phone on the table during the date. It announces that you intend to interact with the phone AND the person you’re with. Unless you’ve got some urgent business to take care of, let it go to voice mail and call people back. The phone doesn’t make you look busy, it makes you look distracted. And, yes, men do it too. Just as annoying. Someone stop the cycle.

Read the story and watch the video, HERE.

So, as I was walking to Key Food this morning, I witnessed two women yelling at each other.  I’m saddened to report that at 9:30 am (i.e. FULL daylight) one of the women pulled down her jeans and panties (mid-rant) and -sigh- relieved herself right there on the curb.  It gets worse.  She was holding a parking meter for balance with her massive bare butt facing traffic and she was squatting at the bumper of a car that three of her completely unfazed male friends were leaning against. I shudder to think that the car might have belonged to one of them. Better still, while she’s peeing, she is also alternately spitting on the sidewalk and yelling at the other woman.  The other woman was closer to me so I heard her end of the conversation better.  Some of the highlights: “Don’t be telling the police about my food stamps, b*tch!”; “You better be glad I came to get your a*s outta jail!”; and my fave, “You better be glad I got 25-to-life on parole or I’d shoot ya a*s!”  The curb woman, let’s call her, was too distracted by anger to adequately pull herself back together after taking a leak so, for a few moments, she actually waddled down the block while completely exposed from her knees to her bellybutton. Lovely image, I know.  Saddest of all, I think the two women were a couple. Isn’t love grand?

So, yesterday, I went out to get lunch on 125th Street and ran into, er, this. Yes, he’s really wearing wings. And when anyone looked at him he would shimmy to make his wings flap. I’m SO glad I have evidence this time so you can’t call me a liar. And can you ask for a better background than the bus that just happened to be driving by??

So, as I was walking to Key Food this morning, I witnessed two women yelling at each other.  I’m saddened to report that at 9:30 am (i.e. FULL daylight) one of the women pulled down her jeans and panties (mid-rant) and -sigh- relieved herself right there on the curb.  It gets worse.  She was holding a parking meter for balance with her massive bare butt facing traffic and she was squatting at the bumper of a car that three of her completely unfazed male friends were leaning against. I shudder to think that the car might have belonged to one of them. Better still, while she’s peeing, she is also alternately spitting on the sidewalk and yelling at the other woman.  The other woman was closer to me so I heard her end of the conversation better.  Some of the highlights: “Don’t be telling the police about my food stamps, b*tch!”; “You better be glad I came to get your a*s outta jail!”; and my fave, “You better be glad I got 25-to-life on parole or I’d shoot ya a*s!”  The curb woman, let’s call her, was too distracted by anger to adequately pull herself back together after taking a leak so, for a few moments, she actually waddled down the block while completely exposed from her knees to her bellybutton. Lovely image, I know.  Saddest of all, I think the two women were a couple. Isn’t love grand?

(Reprinted from sekouwrites.com)

Another in the “hear no evil” series. This is from the street, not the train. I’m walking down 125th Street with two of my co-workers when we see the Ball Man. You know the Ball Man, don’t you? Hmm. Maybe I have not written about him yet. Anyway, the Ball Man hangs out along Lenox Ave. He is always dressed in a light colored suit, he is always wearing a top hat and knee-high rubber boots, and he is always bouncing a red rubber ball. Yes, really. So, when I see Ball Man at the corner of 125th and Lenox he is wearing a clear shower cap on top of his brim because it’s raining– yes, really– and he runs across the street against traffic to meet up with a young Latino guy who is carrying a battered black aluminum bat and is walking with a Pit Bull that has no leash. Scary, right? So, Ball Man says something to Bat Boy and Bat Boy clangs his bat on the ground and yells, “All you got to do is hit him one time, man!” The two of them then walked briskly around the corner and disappeared to cause someone a whole lot of trouble. And, to think, I always thought Ball Man was harmless.

(reprinted from sekouwrites.com)

What kind of mamma would let her lil man-man walk around outside with one shoe on?  This lil bootie was sitting on the mailbox ledge in my apartment building. I know it just means that a good Samaritan found the shoe and put it somewhere where Ms. I-need-to-have-my-child-taken-away-by-ACS could find it, but it makes me laugh all the same.

Getting off the 4/5 train at 125th Street this morning, I almost ran into a guy who was waiting on the other side of the turnstile to ask exiting commuters to swipe him in with their metrocard. This was funny because he was standing right in front of two police officers—according to the MTA billboards, swiping your metrocard to allow someone else onto the train or bus is illegal. The cops seemed incredulous and one of them finally looked at the guy and yelled, “Dude!” Just like the commercial. Priceless. Of course, the swipe bandit was completely undeterred.

So, never mind the fact that this is a quick picture taken on my cell phone of the methodone-head nodded out on the front stoop of my office building– yeah, I took this picture as I was asking him to move.  Forget that part, though.  The really funny thing is that when I showed this blurry, off-center picture to a co-worker, she knew EXACTLY what it was before I could say anything.  I mean, as SOON as I showed her the image she let loose with a rant about how that guy had been nodding out on the stoop and how he wasn’t even moving to let us pass.  That is too funny, right?

Walking back home after a quick trip to the local Bodega, I saw a group of girls walking toward me. They looked to be about 7 or 8 years old. A gang of loud (and loudly colored) bikes careen around the corner behind me and speed down Lenox Avenue. Now, Lenox Ave. in the summer is always packed with people, no matter what time it is, so I wasn’t surprised when the bikers slowed down to primp and pop wheelies. The funny thing was this: one of the bikers raised his front wheel a few times but wasn’t able to keep the bike up in a wheelie. The young girls laughed at him, saying, “He can’t even toss it up!” I thought it was funny because watching the bikers pop wheelies (or try to) must be a part of their daily lives. Me, I’d never seen it before.

On the way to work, the taxi I’m in stops in traffic. On my right, I see a woman yelling to someone across the street, to the left of me. I look to see who she’s talking to and it takes me a moment to discover that the woman she’s having a lengthy conversation with is yelling back to her from across the street four stories up behind dense burglar bars. Must have been out of cell phone minutes.

On the same block, a few moments later, a young woman carrying her baby in her arms is greeted by another young woman with warmth, affection and respect: “Fuck you goin?” Can you feel the love?? I can!

So, right after I made that post about all the lewd and lascivious behavior on the train, there was an announcement on New York 1 news about the NYPD cracking down on such behavior. It seems there were over 1,000 arrests last year alone. Who knew? Now, they are encouraging more women to report any incidents of bad behavior. They want women to know they don’t have to grin and bear it. The news report did not explain how this is to occur though. I suppose you could find the train conductor and maybe they’ll lock the doors until the police arrive. But, I gotta think that if someone is running through the train groping people they won’t stay still. Hmm. Food for thought.

I refuse to give the details on this one but can I just say, I’m up to 3 (three!) stories about men, er, playing with themselves on the train. Is that crazy or what?

So, I look outside the bus window to see this woman running down the street holding her head. She’s going the wrong way on 5th Avenue, and I wonder what she’s running for but I’m not too pressed. Then I hear someone yelling. I look a bit closer. Turns out the woman is chasing her weave as it blows up the sidewalk. The passerby is yelling: “your hair!” as if she can’t see it steadily gliding away. I just wonder how it got off her head in the first place.

So, yesterday I saw the jazz feet guy again. How crazy is that? This time he was out in front of my job. I know I posted these two entries together but I haven’t seen Mr. Jazz Feet in months– maybe a year. Yesterday, his routine was the same. Walkman. Work gloves. Sweats. And, obviously, he was standing on his hands for long periods of time. When he came down he would dance around to the music for a moment then pop right back up on his hands … wiggling his feet to the beat, of course. He made a few people stop and stare but not as many as you’d think considering he was right at a bus stop on 125th Street during rush hour. We Harlemites are immune to such spectacles. One of my co-workers even suggested we recruit him to promote our brand around the neighborhood. Funny, right?

I’m on the bus, which stops at 135th street. I look out the window to see a normal-looking dude standing on the sidewalk in sweats listening to a walkman. Suddenly he upends himself into a handstand and starts to scissor his legs, seemingly to the beat of his music. Now, I must mention it’s about three degrees outside. Brick. And there he goes, doing an upside down version of “jazz hands.” Some kids stopped to watch him-but didn’t get too close. After staying on his hands for a very long time ( a full minute or two), he let himself down, put his hands in his pocket and slowly sauntered away. Only in Harlem.

So, this tall dude stumbles onto the train at 125th Street. His shirt reads, “Hoodlum Entertainment,” which is kind of funny already. I mean, when are we going to stop glorifying crooks and criminals?

Anyway, dude begins pacing around the train car, tossing his big leather jacket from one side of the train to the other and, most notably, having a very wide-ranging and in-depth conversation … with himself. A few notable quotes from his chat:

-”He stuck a dildo in this nigga’s ass and (unintelligible).”
-”They go hell and just talk because (unintelligible).”
-(Loud laugh) “Fuck you. That’s why you brokeback!”

Yeah. That’s exactly what you want to listen to on your daily commute.

Lookit this. Tell me this isn’t funny. They nailed a handle to the wall in order to attach a wire to the chair so they could chain the bike to the chair. This is in a Chinese restaurant on Lenox. C’mon. You know you want to laugh.

Quick one. Same day as the protest (I think). I saw a young man in his mid-twenties hiding behind the columns underneath the Metro North Station on 125th Street. Naturally, I gave him a wide berth, as did the guy walking next to me. We both watched the guy with great interest as he crept from one column to the next with his right hand folded into the shape of a gun. He didn’t have a gun, mind you. But he was holding his hands the way kids do when they are playing cops and robbers. Just when I thought I might be imagining things, I look over at the dude walking to my right. He’s already looking at me and shaking his head. “Only in New York,” he mutters in a gravelly lifelong smoker’s voice. Nah, I think. Only in Harlem.

I work on 125th Street, which is a crazy street any day of the week. During the Sean Bell demonstrations, it was especially crazy. Actually, that’s not entirely true. More accurately, for about 45 minutes it was very surreal at the corner of 125th and Lexington. When a coworker came back from a cigarette break with news that the march (?) rally (?) demonstration (?) had reached our block, we dashed outside. I admit, I was surprised to see people jumping rope in the middle of the intersection, though. A traffic-stopping crowd of protesters (and police) were gathered in a loose circle while the people in the center took turns jumping rope 50 times. I mean, I kinda get it…but not really. My best guess is that it was supposed to be a visual indication of how long it takes to do something 50 times, since 51 shouts were fired at Sean Bell. I can’t quite grasp the corollary between jumping rope and shooting bullets, but the crowd cheered loudly whenever the person jumping made it to 50. I mention that because, since the jumping rope was open to everyone, folks from the ‘hood jumped in too, including a few from our local methadone clinic. Needless to say, that made for a much lower jump count. One old white woman with matted hair and neon makeup was stopped after three very shaky jumps, but the crowd wouldn’t let her off the hook.  “C’mon, you can do it!” they yelled.  So she stayed in there, huffing, wheezing, and talking to herself the whole time.  It was the slowest I’ve ever seen someone jump a rope. I’m sure she’s gonna be feeling the burn for months!

I recorded some of it on my camera’s cell phone—now if I can just figure out how to get it onto this blog!

Okay, so I hear someone out there is referring people to my Harlem blog. I got a few e-mails over the weekend telling me to get it in gear and start posting again. Okay, okay.  So the latest news: My Harlem blog has been picked up by UPTOWN magazine. That means you’re be able to see my Harlem stories both here (in the UPTOWN blog space) and on my Web site (sekouwrites.com).  And for the person who encouraged me not to be so negative, I’ve responded to that allegation before—check the early posts on my Web site—but the short answer is, I’m telling the stories that I think are funny and the ones that make me shake my head. Usually they are one and the same. -smile-  In Harlem, just like every other urban center, there’s a mix of both good and bad. If you want to laugh at the bad, that’s what my blog is for. That doesn’t mean that I hate the area, though. It’s just funny to me. Good? Good.

Yesterday, I went to Pathmark for lunch. Yeah, yeah, I know…but it’s cheap. There was an old lady in a motorized wheelchair in front of me. She asked the server what kind of fish he was serving. The response? A forceful “I don’t know” as if the old lady was wrong. Mind you, this was before the checkout woman with Texas-size curls threw the old lady’s fish down on the counter—likely breaking it into bits because she got mad at another Pathmark employee. Minimum wage is no joke.

Saw a grown woman today—she must have been about 40 years old—riding a neon pink children’s bicycle with purple pedals. She was sitting on it, but the bike was so small that her feet were on the ground and she was using them to push herself along—kind of like a skateboard. Well, a big pink and purple bicycle-looking skateboard. So, anyway, she pushed herself out into the middle of Lexington Avenue and 125th Street against the light as if she were in a hurry to get somewhere. Then, when cars started honking and swerving around her, she sat still, watching it all from the middle of the street. When the light changed and she finally had the right of way, she stayed in the the street, looking back over her shoulder as if she were waiting for someone. The whole time I was watching, her feet never touched the purple pedals.   

On the bus ride home from work, I overheard a brother yelling to a woman right next to him. He wanted to know if she was married. She was. He begged off because the last time he messed with a married woman, he almost got shot. Apparently, what he thought was just the woman’s dog making noise in the living room was actually her husband getting a gun. Our friend from the bus had to jump out the window. The whole bus was smiling at the story.

So this morning when I left for work, this hot pink Range Rover was being used by Cam’ron’s crew as a coffee cup holder. I swear, it looked like a breakfast bar with coffee cups, bagels, and egg sandwiches spread out on the hood.

Harlem is truly frenetic. As a recent transplant from Brooklyn, I think it all seems so strange. My block? Just a microcosm of the whole. Outside, there is an electric pink Range Rover with a hot pink leather interior and chrome rims that seems to serve equal duty as a sofa, weed spot, and lounge. My friends tell me that it has to be Cam’ron’s—the famous rapper. ‘Course, I wouldn’t recognize Cam’ron even if he was sitting in my living room. Hot pink? Are you serious with that?