Portrait of a Barber, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

Photo by myself around 50th Street and Fifth Avenue, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Mark and I drove through Bay Ridge the other day, and a storefront with distinctive lettering caught my eye. I had to take a photo.

Along a strip of eateries and bodegas stood a barber shop from another era. There were the remnants of a tattered awning, rusted roll down doors and a motley assortment in the window - an overgrown plant, an American flag, a couple model ships.

Inside, I was greeted by Tony, the proprietor. Tony told me that he opened his shop fifty years ago. At first I had trouble understanding him and thought he'd said fifteen. No, fifty of course. And the place has remained unchanged.

Haircuts and a shave are ten bucks apiece. Tony soon had a customer. I took my leave, not wanting to distract him. I left, walking on air.


I was so excited by original furnishings and wooden cash register, that I forgot to get out of the photo. Behind me, Tony takes a phone call.


Tony greets his customer with a little kidding around.


Everything gets serious as the master begins work.

The Portrait Series is a once-in-a-while installment, featuring New Yorkers encountered on the street.

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Back in Time, in Bay Ridge Brooklyn

Photo by myself in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

There's something about Bay Ridge that I like so much. It seems untouched by time. I like that the fellow is wearing a tank top.

I took the above photo on July 4th of this year. The flags were out on the sidewalk, but few people were outside.

Related posts: Nearly Perfect, Parked in Park Slope and The Night Sky.

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A Call for Help

Photo by myself, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

I thought this sign was humorous.

Vandalism and theft are an unfortunate phenomenon in larger cities. I wonder whether the bench-pilferer ever saw this note?

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Related posts: Working it Out

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Nearly Perfect

Photo by myself in Bay Ridge Brooklyn, on Fifth Avenue around 76th Street.

A black and white photograph shows how timeless this neighborhood is; the small shops with their canopies, the tree-lined streets and an almost sleepy pace of life.

There are diners next to discount stores, locksmiths next to law offices. Bay Ridge has mainly Italian, Greek, Scandinavian and Irish families. The town is separated from Park Slope by Sunset Park, which is populated by primarily Chinese, Puerto Rican and Dominican families.

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Happy Monday, everyone. I wanted to start the week off with a wholesome and comforting image.

Lately Mark and I have become addicted to The Wire, the HBO series about police and narcotics cases, set in Baltimore.

Friends had recommended this show, several friends. There were long, long conversations about how realistic, well-produced and addictive the series was. We were warned that we wouldn't become full addicts until the third episode, had dvds pressed upon us and were waved away.

Mark and I had heard a segment on NPR about The Wire, too, about how many of the actors had once been on the street, lending the show an air of authenticity. The show was conceived by an ex-reporter, based on the experiences of one of his detective friends. 'The Wire' refers to working undercover in the drug world.

As opposed to the formulaic New York-based Law and Order series, it's the characters of The Wire that make the show compelling. You bond with the good guys and the bad guys. Actually, the good guys aren't entirely good, and the bad guys aren't entirely bad. Instead, each side is decidedly flawed, just as they are in reality.

If you have spare time to be riveted to your television, check it out. But be aware, it is highly addictive and refreshingly intense.


For an NPR interview with the series' creator, David Simon, click here.

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Damned Yankees

Photo by myself in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Mark is addicted to cookies from a bakery in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. He makes the 50+ block drive over for a batch, which he then stores in ziplock baggies.

This storefront belongs to a quaint Greek grocery store in Bay Ridge. You can see a reflection of a Greek flag in the glass.

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The past week was a busy one for both Mark and I. He finished up a shoot for a major corporate website.

He did such a good job, the client gave him four tickets to the Sunday Yankees game against Cincinnati (the Yanks won, 4-1).

We were all set to go with another couple, but were both pooped from the week. Friday we went to a rooftop party in Long Island City. Saturday we had people over for a barbeque of our own. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, all we wanted to do was stay at home and nest.

So he decided to forgo the game. Mark sold a pair on Craigslist. That left a pair left, at 10am. The game started at 1:30.

'Anyone with a Yankees cap, I'm going to see if they want em,' he said.

On the way out of the apartment, we ran into a neighbor, whose young son had a Yankees cap. Unfortunately, they had plans for the afternoon. Then we drove to Bay Ridge for cookies.

We ran into a couple on the sidewalk, one wearing a Yankees cap. They were surprised to be approached by strangers bearing free baseball tickets, but they were too busy to go. Finally, just as we were getting back into the car, a lanky young guy sidled by with a blue Yankees cap and a tatooed forearm.

'Hey bro, you wanna go to the Yankees game? Starts in 45 minutes. If you jump on the train now, you can make it.'

The guy had to work in the afternoon, but Mark pressed him anyway. Maybe he knew someone in the neighborhood? They shook hands and we left him there, a little astonished by the random encounter.

Before today, I never noticed how many Yankees cap wearers there are around here. Seeing three people within a half hour is a lot.

Hopefully someone enjoyed the seats!

Related posts: Christmas Shopping

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Christmas Shopping

The other night we had our office holiday party in the meatpacking district. I had overestimated how much work I had and was panicked til the last minute. The client's email wasn't working, I didn't have enough time to check my work. It was the usual insanity. Five minutes before hors d'oevres were to be served, I ran out the door.

Outside, it was freezing and it was impossible to get a cab. Mark called me from the bar to report that traffic was tied up with opening night for the the new Apple Store on 9th Avenue. I opted to take the subway and hoof it a couple blocks.

When I arrived, the party was hopping. There were lights strung in the windows of the restaurant, candles set on tables and an open bar that featured sparkling pink martinis. Smartly dressed waiters balanced trays of skewered meats and sauces. There were rolled things and fried things, and many, many drinks.

Dinner was surprisingly good. There were salads and steak. After desert and coffee, we had our traditional Secret Santa exchange. Earlier in the week, we had picked names and were encouraged to spend $25 for a gift. Most people spent more, since 25 bucks does not get you much.

I'd gotten my Secret Santa person a cute pair of convertible cashmere gloves from J Crew, which were fingerless gloves that turned into mittens. I felt generous and threw in a Sephora lip gloss sampler to boot.



The Secret Santa gift I received was not nearly so cute. I opened the hastily wrapped box to find a few novelty items - a toy camera gizmo, a Christmas ornament, a candle. Mark looked over at the box and said, 'There is no way a gay dude gave you those things. Those are from a straight dude.'

I tried not to look too disappointed in public. 'A gay dude would've at least gotten you a nice soap,' he went on. 'And it would've been wrapped better.'

'He probably ran out of time. He was probably stressed,' I said. 'Or maybe he thought I was 12 years old.'

'Definitely not gay,' Mark repeated.

We left before I could find out who my Secret Santa was. Now I'm dying to know.


Photo by myself in Brooklyn.

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