#East 10th Street

[eastvillagetripster]

Standing Guard

Lion statue outside Saint Mark's Church-in-the-Bowery, 131 East 10th Street (at Second Avenue), East Village, New York City.

[manwalksintobar]

Mugging (I)  // Allen Ginsberg

I Tonite I walked out of my red apartment door on East tenth street’s dusk— Walked out of my home ten years, walked out in my honking neighborhood Tonite at seven walked out past garbage cans chained to concrete anchors   Walked under black painted fire escapes, giant castiron plate covering a hole in ground —Crossed the street, traffic lite red, thirteen bus roaring by liquor store,   past corner pharmacy iron grated, past Coca Cola & Mylai posters fading scraped on brick Past Chinese Laundry wood door’d, & broken cement stoop steps For Rent hall painted green & purple Puerto Rican style Along E. 10th’s glass splattered pavement, kid blacks & Spanish oiled hair adolescents’ crowded house fronts— Ah, tonite I walked out on my block NY City under humid summer sky Halloween, thinking what happened Timothy Leary joining brain police for a season?   thinking what’s all this Weathermen, secrecy & selfrighteousness beyond reason—F.B.I. plots? Walked past a taxicab controlling the bottle strewn curb— past young fellows with their umbrella handles & canes leaning against a ravaged Buick —and as I looked at the crowd of kids on the stoop—a boy stepped up, put his arm around my neck tenderly I thought for a moment, squeezed harder, his umbrella handle against my skull, and his friends took my arm, a young brown companion tripped his foot ’gainst my ankle— as I went down shouting Om Ah Hūm to gangs of lovers on the stoop watching slowly appreciating, why this is a raid, these strangers mean strange business with what—my pockets, bald head, broken-healed-bone leg, my softshoes, my heart— Have they knives? Om Ah Hūm—Have they sharp metal wood to shove in eye ear ass? Om Ah Hūm & slowly reclined on the pavement, struggling to keep my woolen bag of poetry address calendar & Leary-lawyer notes hung from my shoulder dragged in my neat orlon shirt over the crossbar of a broken metal door   dragged slowly onto the fire-soiled floor an abandoned store, laundry candy counter 1929— now a mess of papers & pillows & plastic car seat covers cracked cockroach-corpsed ground— my wallet back pocket passed over the iron foot step guard and fell out, stole by God Muggers’ lost fingers, Strange— Couldn’t tell—snakeskin wallet actually plastic, 70 dollars my bank money for a week, old broken wallet—and dreary plastic contents—Amex card & Manf. Hanover Trust Credit too—business card from Mr. Spears British Home Minister Drug Squad—my draft card—membership ACLU & Naropa Institute Instructor’s identification Om Ah Hūm   I continued chanting Om Ah Hūm Putting my palm on the neck of an 18 year old boy fingering my back pocket crying “Where’s the money” “Om Ah Hūm    there isn’t any” My card Chief Boo-Hoo Neo American Church New Jersey & Lower East Side Om Ah Hūm    —what not forgotten crowded wallet—Mobil Credit, Shell? old lovers addresses on cardboard pieces, booksellers calling cards— —“Shut up or we’ll murder you”—“Om Ah Hūm    take it easy” Lying on the floor shall I shout more loud?—the metal door closed on blackness one boy felt my broken healed ankle, looking for hundred dollar bills behind my stocking weren’t even there—a third boy untied my Seiko Hong Kong watch rough from right wrist leaving a clasp-prick skin tiny bruise “Shut up and we’ll get out of here”—and so they left, as I rose from the cardboard mattress thinking Om Ah Hūm    didn’t stop em enough, the tone of voice too loud—my shoulder bag with 10,000 dollars full of poetry left on the broken floor—

  November 2, 1974

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

THE TRADER’S DAUGHTER — cooper “the ghoul” howard x female!oc

EDIT; FOLLOW @bonafideyapper FOR FUTURE PARTS

warnings(?): dbf!cooper, female!oc, oc is described as brown eyed (but feel free to picture whatever you want), proofread to the best of my ability (correcting capitalization is not my priority on my phone, this is hard enough to format as is), this series will have smut at some point but let me work up to writing that (meaning, let me smoke this joint and see where the wind takes me), there’s allusion to smut in this towards the end but it’s nothing wild

(this is part one of some) - part 2

Daisy hadn’t seen Cooper for a very, very long time. She’d never forgotten the charismatic cowboy that told her stories of the old world and of his encounters with creatures in the wasteland. The ghoul that would bring her little trinkets from his travels, gifting her a pearl necklace for her 10th birthday. A single pearl on a dainty silver chain that she would wear every day until it wore out. She was 13 when that happened, and was utterly devastated. Thankfully, she had charmed a local boy for a new chain, sneaking behind her dad’s back to go on a few dates with the kid. She’s continue to flirt with men and make empty promises to them to replace the chain each time it broke.

Cooper had gotten himself into some thick shit, spending a good time locked up by some raiders and other bullshit that got him sidetracked. On the other side of the goddamn wasteland, on the fucking east coast. How did he even get to the fucking east coast? By the time he made it back to the trading post, over a decade had passed, and it showed in the size of the once-familiar settlement. More gambling, more fighting in the streets, whole lotta bad shit that he didn’t have time to get involved with. He made his way through the town, his gaze trained on the old trading post at the center of town. He took careful notice of how men sneered at him as he passed by them, mumbling some racist bullshit about his ghoulishness.

Fuck them, he thought as he stepped up to the door of the trading post. He opened the door to hear the old bell jingle to alert his presence, watching as a young woman walked out from the back room with a routine “Welcome to Jo’s Shack, what can I get you?” leaving her pretty pink lips.

Daisy was almost in shock, seeing the ghoul standing in her doorway. She had assumed the worst over the years, as his visits had become less and less until they were not at all. She figured he was dead, shriveled up and baking in the sun. Or worse, she worried he had gone feral, which was always going to be inevitable in his case. Either way, she would keep extra chems stocked for the day he returned.

Cooper strolled towards the counter and looked at the girl, recognizing those big brown eyes from a mile away. “Hey, little flower. Your daddy around?” He asked her, his eyes flickering down to look at the pearl around her neck. Huh, he didn’t know she’d have kept it all those years. Pretty things were hard to keep around these parts.

Daisy’s face broke out into a grin and she gave him a little nod, leaning forward to get a good look at him. “Sure is, I’ll go get him for you. he’s not gonna believe this.” She had to fight to maintain her composure and keep her excitement at bay, going through the back room and up the stairs to the second floor of the shack to where her father was sleeping. In the ghoul’s absence, Daisy had grown to be a respectable trader, taking over the face of her father’s shop after growing up learning from the best. Although the population was tougher, she was just as tough, and nobody dared to fuck with Jo’s Shack or the woman running the place.

She stepped back out to the main room and leaned against the newly-reinforced counter, a bright smile on her face as she gazed up at him. He was just as handsome as she remembered, though she was never truly able to capture how his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

“Flower, you are just as pretty as a peach.” Cooper flashed her a wide grin, unashamedly flirting with the girl who he had essentially watched grow up. And whew, did she grow up good. He couldn’t help himself as he let his sunken eyes roam over the smooth, exposed skin of her chest, the tank top she wore under her unzipped jacket left little to the imagination.

Daisy thought his southern drawl was absolutely intoxicating as she slid a little box of chem vials across the counter to him, “Thank you, Coop. Don’t tell dad I gave these to you.” She winked and leaned back as her dad came out to greet his old friend, letting the two men greet each other like they hadn’t spent any time apart.

“Cooper Howard, you son of a bitch! I hope you brought me that Brahmin you still owe me.” Josiah grinned as he pulled the ghoul in for a hug, giving him shit over some long-forgotten wager on a card game. Coop patted him on the back with a shit-eating grin, “Yessir, why, yo’ momma’s waitin’ outside!”

Daisy watched Cooper closely as she stood beside her dad, taking in the way his skin had started to redden in places she didn’t remember being scarred over before. She had spent her whole adolescence infatuated with him, playing it off as a silly little girl crush on a big strong man (who had killed for her, but that’s a story for another day.) Her pulse quickened as she overhead her father invite the ghoul inside for a drink and to rest, watching him come around the counter to push through the curtains leading to the back.

It was fucked up, Cooper knew that. He knew it was fucked up to already be thinking about the woman behind him. Thinking about how sweet she sounded when she said his name, thinking about that little pearl necklace dangling in his face as she skillfully sat atop his—

He really needed that drink, and maybe a puff of his inhaler before he went feral at the thought of something as soft and pretty as his Daisy having anything to do with something as scarred and distorted as him.

a/n: okay yall what do we think about part one? I got to the app to post it and immediately rewrote the ending because I hated the original, so I hope this was good!

taglist: @savanahc @one-of-thewalkingdead @silverose365 @neverendingdumptser

[sgiandubh]

Oh, hello

The Sibyl of Tydavnet was supposedly back home, and we finally have something to speculate upon, after a week-end with no news from both of Them (go figure). So much so that it's been very, very quiet in here:

This is, of course, a latergram, When being the important question, here. I have to say I was a bit surprised, after two hours of research (and cooking, but that is a separate story).

Let's unpack:

From 1974 to 2023, the Monaghan County Museum has been open and free to visit. Until 1981, in the old Courthouse building of Monaghan Town, then temporarily hosted by the Christian Brothers Secondary School, and since 1986 in this building on Hill Street:

I am not inventing anything, this info comes straight from their official website:

On May 18th, 2023 (on International Museum Day), the venue was closed and the collections were planned to be moved at the new Monaghan Peace Campus:

The Peace Campus is a very important local initiative, funded by the City Council, the Irish Department of Rural and Community Development and the EU, via the Irish SEUPB (Special EU Programs Body - ironically, the counterpart of my new job, starting next Friday, LOL). It was inaugurated on May 10, 2024:

Where was C, in this clip, posted today and suggesting a recent trip to Ireland?

In the old building, of course, exactly as it was on May 18, 2023:

Apparently taken on an extensive private tour that included the storage area, where this pic was taken:

How do I know it? I simply combed the meager social media accounts of the Museum, that's all. See and compare for yourself, with this screenshot of the moving operations, from the old Hill Street to the new premises (posted on Facebook, on June 14th, 2024, but very likely shot slightly before):

In April 2023, the new Peace Campus looked roughly like this. There is no way that clip would have been shot there. Not then...

...and not later, because the new display in the new venue looks totally different:

And it was completed around May 10th 2024, when this picture was taken, separately from the rest of the released info:

The pic was taken by Laura Hogan, the North East Correspondent for RTE News, a subsidiary of the Irish public TV and Radio broadcasting company:

But perhaps even more interestingly, the Museum shot several clips of people featured, like C, in the new inaugural exhibition. Such as this guy, back in June 2023, on their old premises:

Ardal O'Hanlon, Irish stand-up comedian and actor, based in Ireland and London:

This is a very, very, VERY late latergram. My best guess would be anytime between May 2023 and most probably around June 2023. Simply because it would be logical that the clip shooting be completed with all the people involved at the same time, for logistical reasons, and before the packing of the exhibits would have started in earnest.

As always, I could be wrong. As always, people will bitch around, especially the divas and those who know strictly nothing. But I'll be damned if C were in Ireland anytime near this last week-end!

[scopophilic1997]

scopOphilic_documentary_108 - scopOphilic1997 presents a new micro-messaging series: small, subtle, and often unintentional messages we send and receive verbally and non-verbally.

Memories of places in the past (former gay-lgbtq+ bars/clubs) (L-R, T-B): Crow Bar (East 10th Street - East Village), Pyramid Club (Avenue A - East Village), Danceteria (West 21st Street - Photo District/Chelsea), & Limelight/Chapel Entrance (West 20th Street - Photo District/Chelsea)

These posters were all over the Lower East Side for many years in the 1980s/1990s when Dean Johnson's Rock 'N' Roll Fag Bar was happening at The World, The Pyramid Club, and other venues later on. Dean also did the door at the Limelight (Chapel entrance) for some wild parties with Michael Alig & the Club Kids. Dean also had two great bands: Dean and the Weenies and the Velvet Mafia. Dean was the ultimate showman at whatever he did. Sadly, Dean was murdered in Washington DC in 2007.

(Both posters are part of my collection. The photo one was cut off a wall around 1987. The illustration was given to me by a close friend of Deans.)

[lonestarflight]

"The prototype space shuttle orbiter Enterprise drew thousands of spectators on a chilly winter day as it was towed along 10th Street East (now Challenger Way) near Lancaster Boulevard in Lancaster, Calif., on its overland journey to NASA's Dryden Flight Research Center at Edwards, Calif., on Jan. 31, 1977. Never destined for actual space flight, the Enterprise would soon be the focus of the in-atmosphere Approach and Landing Tests that would validate the shuttle's capability to make a precise runway landing following return from space."

Date: January 31, 1977

Photographed by Jerry Isham

NARA: 6375234

NASA ID: EC77-6679, EC77-6682, EC77-6680, EC77-6683

Intrepid Museum Archive: P2011.48.12, P2011.48.09, P2011.48.15, P2011.48.11, P2011.48.13

[federer7]

10th Street & Avenue C. Lower East Side. New York City. ca. 1974

Photo: Helen Levitt

[allthecanadianpolitics]

The owner of an East Vancouver apartment building badly damaged by a fire last summer has been fined $4,500 for numerous fire code violations.

Flames broke out at the building at East 10th Avenue and Prince Edwards Street on July 27, 2023. The damage left 30 people homeless.

In November, owner Fu Ren pleaded guilty to six of 20 code violations of which he was accused. Alleged violations included failing to maintain the sprinkler systems and fire extinguishers and allowing fire hazards such as exposed wires.

Ren represented himself in court, and argued the fire department hadn’t followed proper procedures.

The citations stemmed from a November 2022 inspection of the Mount Pleasant rental. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Scenes of dead and wounded Palestinian men, women and children lay sprawling everywhere in a field hospital with minimal supplies after the Israeli occupation forces bombed the Al-Taba'een School sheltering thousands of civilian families in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, east of Gaza City, during Fajr (dawn) prayers on Saturday morning, killing more than 100 civilians and wounding scores of others. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

ISRAELI GENOCIDE IN GAZA DAY 309: THOUSANDS DISPLACED AGAIN WITH LATEST EVACUATION ORDERS, YAHYA SINWAR DEMANDS FULL ISRAELI WITHDRAWAL FROM GAZA, JOURNALISTS TARGETED BY ZIONIST ARMY, MORE THAN 100 KILLED IN ISRAELI MASSACRE AS GENOCIDE CONTINUES WITH NO END IN SIGHT

On the 309th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 3 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 40 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 140 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or whose bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally the number of those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

Newly appointed leader of the Hamas Islamic resistance movement, Yahya Sinwar, has penned a letter to the Egyptian mediators negotiating a hostage exchange and ceasefire deal between the Islamic resistance in Gaza and the Zionist entity.

In the letter, Sinwar demanded a full Israeli withdrawal from the Gaza Strip as part of any agreement between the two warring sides.

Additionally, according to Palestinian reporting, Sinwar is demanding the release of Palestinian prisoners with long sentences in Israeli prisons, including Marwan Barghouti and Ahmed Saadat, to which the newly elected leader of the resistance group refuses to give up on.

Sinwar reportedly also strongly opposes the administration of the Gaza Strip by the Palestinian Authority after the war, and rejected the idea of the deployment of a multinational force in Gaza to maintain security following any ceasefire agreement.

Following the assassination of Ismail Haniyeh, who previously headed Hamas's political bureau, Yahya Sinwar was elected to lead the movement by unanimous consensus, selecting a resistance commander who has shown he is capable of shouldering the responsibility of leading the war on the ground while under constant Israeli assault for more than 300 days.

In other news this Saturday, August 10th, the United Nations announced today that at least 60'000 Palestinian civilians have been displaced from the western areas of Gaza under evacuation orders by the Israeli occupation forces, fleeing to so-called "humanitarian" safe zones that are repeatedly bombed by the occupation army.

According to Turkish news outlet, Anadolu News Agency, the Israeli occupation uses forced displacement of Palestinians as a weapon of war, and that more than 80% of Gaza's 2.3 million residents have been displaced since October, 2023.

This comes after the occupation army demanded the evacuation of the residents of Khan Yunis earlier this week, forcing tens of thousands of civilians to leave their homes and shelters once again in preperation for yet another Israeli incursion into the city.

According to United Nations data, 9 out of 10 people in the Gaza Strip have been forcibly displaced, with many Palestinians forced to make impossible decisions between death and repeated displacement, even as the Zionist entity continues to block the entry of humanitarian aid into Gaza.

On Saturday, the spokesperson for the United Nations Secretary-General, Florencia Soto, gave a press briefing where she told reporters that "It is estimated that more than 80% of the Gaza Strip has been subject to Israeli evacuation orders since October of last year."

She went on to warn that the amount of humanitarian aid entering the Gaza Strip has been cut by more than half since the beginning of May following the closure of the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings.

According to Soto, back in April, the number of trucks transporting aid into Gaza averaged 169 daily, while since the crossing's closure, the number of trucks entering the enclave has dropped to less than 80 per day for the months of June and July.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) renewed its massacres of civilian targets and "safe zones" in the Gaza Strip, killing and wounding hundreds of Palestinians and leaving widespread destruction across the Strip.

In the latest horrific massacre yet another crime against humanity, the Israeli occupation army dropped three American-made 2'000lb (907kg) bunker-busting bombs targeting the Al-Taba'een School sheltering more than 6'000 Palestinians in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, east of Gaza City, resulting in the immediate fatalities of at least 100 civilians and wounding scores of others, including many that required amputations.

The Director of Gaza's Media Office, Ismail Thawabteh, said in a statement that the latest massacre coincided with the "complete destruction of the health system in northern Gaza," leaving the area with no remaining hospitals capable of handling the large numbers of casualties resulting from the strikes.

Thawabteh added that there continues to be a severe shortage of medicines, hospital beds and medical supplies to treat the wounded, and pointed out that the bombing of the Al-Taba'een School marks the 175th shelter to be targeted by the occupation army since the start of the war, with 155 of those being Schools that were directly targeted.

Thawabteh went on to hold both the Zionist regime and the United States fully responsible for the slaughter, calling upon the International community to "pressure Israel and the US to halt the ongoing massacres and genocidal campaign against the Palestinian people.”

Earlier today, the Gaza Government media office said that “the Israeli strikes targeted the displaced people while performing Fajr (dawn) prayers, [which] led to a rapid rise in the number of casualties.”

The Israeli occupation's war crimes continued when Zionist warplanes bombed several areas of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, killing at least 14 Palestinians, including two journalists, and wounding a number of others.

Local medical sources reported they'd received the bodies of 14 Palestinians at Nasser medical complex in Khan Yunis after intense bombing and shelling targeted various areas of the city.

According to local reporting, occupation fighter jets bombed a residential house belonging to the Muammar family in the Tahlia neighborhood of central Khan Yunis, resulting in the deaths 5 civilians, including Tamim Muammar, a journalist with Voice of Palestine Radio.

In another crime, Zionist snipers shot and killed a Palestinian citizen in the vicinity of the Ailabun School in the town of Al-Qarara, northeast of Khan Yunis.

Local reporting also announced the death of journalist Abdullah Al-Soussi in an occupation bombing raid that targeted the Al-Soussi family home in the city of Khan Yunis.

Following the murder of the two journalists, occupation artillery forces shelled a house in the Al-Shahaida area in the town of Abasan Al-Jadida, east of Khan Yunis, injuring several Palestinians.

Zionist warplanes also bombed a residential home belonging to the Abu Khalifa family in the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the northern Gaza Strip, killing 6 Palestinian civilians and wounding at least 15 others.

Occupation aircraft later bombed a civilian residence belonging to the Hamada family, west of the Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in the deaths of 4 Palestinians and wounding several others, while two other homes belonging to the Abu Rahma and Al-Hawari families were also damaged in the strike.

Similarly, at least 4 civilians were wounded as a result of the occupation's artillery shelling of a residential house belonging to the Al-Qarnawi family, south of the Nuseirat Camp.

Occupation warplanes went on to bomb a civilian tent at Site-14, adjacent to the Al-Mazra'a School, east of the city of Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip, killing 4 civilians and wounding several others.

Yet another occupation airstrike targeted a gathering of civilians in the Ma'an area, east of Khan Yunis, in the south of Gaza, resulting in the deaths of more than 7 Palestinians.

Additionally, a Zionist drone bombed a group of civilians near the Sunnah Mosque in Al-Nuseirat in central Gaza, murdering 3 Palestinians and wounding a number of others.

At the same time, another occupation drone bombed a residential house belonging to the Al-Aklouk family in the Al-Baraka area, south of Deir al-Balah, killing one civilian and wounding several others who were transported to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in the city.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination in the Gaza Strip, the infinitely rising death toll now exceeds 39'790 Palestinians killed, including more the 10'980 women and over 16'315 children, while another 91'702 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

This brings the total casualty count to more than 131'492, or the equivalent of 5.71% of Gaza's 2.3 million residents.

August 10th, 2024.

#source1

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#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[joeinct]

77 East 10th Street, Photo by David Vestal. 1949

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 13

Synopsis: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, cancer, alcohol, mentions of death, fertility discussions and pregnancy, surrogacy, mentions of IVF and clinics/hospital testing, fucking ANGST, medical inaccuracies because I am not a fertility expert or a physician

WC: 2.6K

Chapter summary: Phoenix's pregnancy progresses; Reid tells Bobby she's ready to get married; Reid forgives Jake for being a dick; Bobby and Reid prepare for Baby Floyd

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

Bob had always wanted kids. 

He wanted to be a dad, long before it was a popular idea. He remembered being eight and his little sister falling on the playground. He was the first one to get to her, to bandage her knee, to wipe away her tears and say it was going to be OK. 

He knew then what he knew now: he was meant to be a dad. He just had to find the right girl to build a life with. 

Everything happened fast. Before you knew it, you, Bob and Phoenix were on a commercial flight back to New York, meeting with your doctors at Mount Sinai about the viability of the eggs. Bob looked a little pale as they handed him a cup at the fertility specialist and showed him a private room in the corner. They asked if you would like to join him and the blush that crept over his face had you and Phoenix laughing for hours. 

You got to show Bob and Phoenix around New York for two days while you waited for the results from Bob’s tests, the egg viability tests, as well as Phoenix’s screening exams. You took them for bagels and walks in the park all the way up to the Met. You snuck out early from the AirBnB in the morning to get chocolate babka from Breads Bakery before it sold out and you and Bob wandered the aisles of The Strand before meeting Phoenix for dinner at your favorite tapas bar tucked away on west 10th street. 

And then you got the call. The three of you sat in the waiting room of the clinic on the upper east side, your hand swaddled in Bob’s. 

“Everything looks good,” the doctor said. “We can start fertilization and bring you in for a transfer in a few days.” 

You looked at Bob with wide eyes. He pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. When you leaned back you reached over and grabbed Phoenix, holding her tightly. “Thank you,” you whispered. 

The three of you left five days later with explicit instructions that Phoenix wasn’t to take a pregnancy test for two weeks. 

The two longest weeks of your life. Finally, two Fridays later, you sat in the back seat while Bob drove Phoenix to the clinic on base to get a blood draw. 

Later that night, the phone rang. You looked over at Phoenix, eyes wide. She reached out, hand steady and even, and swiped it open, hitting the speaker button. “Lieutenant Trace.” 

“Lieutenant Trace, it’s Dr. Marly. We have your results. Are Lieutenant Floyd and Ms. Coleman there as well?” 

“They are.” 

“Great.” There was the sound of shuffling paper. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.” 

Your jaw dropped. For a moment, no one knew what to do. But then Bob pulled you into his arms, twirling you around in a circle before bending you backward, pressing his lips to yours, smiling. 

“You’re going to be a mom,” he whispered as he pulled back. 

A tear slid down your cheek. “And you’re going to be a dad.” 

He grinned. You turned to Phoenix who ended the call and looked up at you with a surprised look. 

Before she could say anything, your arms were wrapped tightly around her, your face buried in her neck. “Thank you,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheek and wetting her hair. “I just, thank you.” 

She swallowed the lump in her throat and Bob stepped closer, wrapping the aviator in his arms and you watched the two of them, your heart threatening to crack in half. 

Bob called the rest of the team, inviting them over, and less than twenty minutes later the house was full of shouting aviators. You watched and laughed as Bob jumped up and down with Coyote and Bradley hugged Phoenix tightly, one hand over her flat lower stomach before she swatted him away playfully. 

Jake entered the room and zeroed in on you immediately, crossing the living room and coming to stand in front of you. “Reid,” he said softly. “I just–”

You closed the gap between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. The room went quiet and Jake’s arms circled your waist hesitantly. 

You pulled back slightly, still holding onto his shoulders. 

“I forgive you,” you said. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Grudges don’t matter. I’m going to be a mom. That’s what matters.” 

And then you pulled him back in for another hug, and felt the relief fall from Jake’s back. He felt lighter and you swore you almost heard him sniffle against your neck.

After the two of you broke apart, Bob crossed the room, wrapping his hands around the side of your neck, pressing his lips firmly against your forehead. You closed your eyes and let go. 

Everything was going to work out. 

***

The waiting was the worst part. First it was for the first scan. And then it was for the heartbeat. 

Every time, you’d sit in the back as Bob drove the three of you to the clinic, his hand firm in yours as you sat on the chairs against the wall, waiting for the tiny bean to show up on the ultrasound. 

Sometimes you felt like you were married to Phoenix. Always asking her if you could do anything for her, rub her feet, get her ice cream. 

“Reid,” she laughed as you flitted nervously around the kitchen, looking for a snack. “You’re going to worry yourself into a coma.” 

You turned to her with a sigh. “I just, I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. “I don’t even know what my role is.” 

She stood and pressed her hands against the tops of your shoulders. “We’re all just figuring it out as we go.” 

You nodded softly. 

You couldn’t help but be jealous as you saw Phoenix’s body begin to round out softly. And you were thankful that she let you in on the experience, lifting her shirt, pressing your hand to the delicate curve without you ever asking.

But it didn’t stop you from tearing up in Bob’s arms at night as he held you. Perhaps you were crying for a lot of things. Not only the fact that you so desperately wanted to be the one to carry his child. But because you knew that at some point, somewhere, you would leave them. And it would be Bob and the baby. 

“Bobby?” you whispered quietly in the dark, your naked limbs tangled with his, his fingers threading softly through your hair. 

“What is it, honey?”

“Are you going to forget me?” you asked. “When I’m gone.” Then, “What if the baby never remembers me at all?” 

“Darlin’.” Bob tipped your chin up so you were looking at his soft blue eyes. “I’ll never forget you. Not as long as I live. You’re unforgettable, Reid Coleman.” 

“Floyd,” you said and Bob squinted. 

“Why are you calling me by my last name?” he chuckled.

You shook your head. “I want to be Reid Floyd. Let’s do it. Let’s get married.” 

“Are you serious?” he asked quietly. Bob knew you weren’t one for marriage or all the bureaucracy involved in a wedding. 

You nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I am. Just you and me. Maybe Phoenix. And Bradley can come.” 

Bob laughed, pressing his lips to yours, absorbing your laugh through his body. “So everyone,” he murmured. 

“Fine,” you said and he chuckled again, pulling you in tighter. “We can have a party after, a small one.” 

“Or just us,” he said softly. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. Anything.” 

“You,” you whispered. “I want you. I want to be yours. That’s enough.” 

***

In the end, you had a small ceremony out on the beach near where Bob first asked you to marry him. You wore a white chiffon dress that floated in the wind, and Bradley officiated following a short online course to get ordained. 

You and Bob had agreed that writing your own vows were cheesy. The truth was, you didn’t think you’d be able to get through them without crying off your makeup. 

So when Bob pulled out a small sheet of paper, folded neatly into a square, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Bobby,” you whispered, shaking your head. "I didn't write anything."

He smiled. He was wearing a light tan suit with a white button up left slightly unbuttoned at the top, bare feet in the sand, hair slightly longer but brushed back neatly. Bob grinned at you. “Please, Sunny,” he said softly. “Let me do this.” 

You nodded and took his free hand in yours. 

“Sunny,” Bob said, smiling down at you. “I always knew that I loved you. I think in the beginning I wasn’t sure, all I knew was that I wanted to spend all of my time with you. That you were my best friend, the one person I trusted would always have my back. And then, slowly, I realized it wasn’t just that. I love the way you laugh and the way your eyes crinkle at the corners as you read and how you always have a huge bag of mints in the car that spills all over anytime you try to get one out while you’re driving, and I love the way you always make my birthday so special because you know I would never make a fuss about it myself. 

“I have loved you every day for ten years. Being your husband is going to be the most important thing I’ll ever do. You’re my whole world, Sunny. I hope I can make you even one percent as happy as you make me, simply by being yourself. You’re the best part of my day, you’re my best friend, you’re my soulmate. I love you so much, darlin’. And I always will.” 

You were sobbing. Bob slid the note back into his pocket, grabbing both of your hands with his, drawing your knuckles up to his lips and kissing them softly. 

Bradley pushed a tear off of his cheek and read the rest of the ceremony. You slid a solid gold band onto Bob’s finger. He placed the gold band he had originally given you back onto your finger where you had slipped it off earlier that morning and given it to Jake for safe keeping. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” 

Bob stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you, one hand on your neck, supporting your head. He grinned and leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. You closed your eyes, savoring it. 

That was a moment that would last forever. 

***

You sat on the beach under an umbrella, wearing one of Bob’s old shirts over your swimsuit, drinking from a bottle of water. 

In the distance, along the shoreline, the team was playing a game of pickup dogfight football. You had become accustomed to the yells, the grunts, the almost blinding parade of abs. 

Next to you, Phoenix sat on a matching chair, reading a book. 

You looked over at her. “How are you feeling?” She was fifteen weeks along. Her lithe, gorgeous body had taken on a small rounded stomach which she rubbed with suntan lotion. 

“I’m OK,” she said, leaning back slightly and sighing. “Feeling huge.” 

You chuckled. “Well you look great.” 

Phoenix turned her eyes on you, your gold ring glinting in the sun as you slid on a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. “How are you, Reid?” she asked softly. 

“I’m good.”

“How are you really?” 

The truth was, you were tired. Small things felt like they were taking longer. You had started to scrapbook. You and Bob had both agreed that you’d quit your job, time was too precious, so you did, shortly after the wedding. It gave you time to think. Time to shop for a nursery, which you set up in your old room. Funny that only a handful of months before, you had been redecorating it as your room. Now, you and Bob shared the master, his nightstand impeccable and clean, yours littered with mint wrappers and dog-eared books and leftover bottles of half-full kombucha.

You needed more time. You were worried that one day they would forget you. That’s why you had a large photo of you and Bob printed and framed and hung it in the entryway. The two of you on the beach on the day of your wedding. Happy. You hoped that look would last forever. 

You smiled at her. “I want him to be happy,” you said softly. “Even when I’m gone. I want him to always look like this.” 

The two of you looked out over at the group. Bob sat on Bradley’s shoulders, proudly holding the football, a wide smile stretched over his entire face. 

“He deserves to be happy forever.” 

She reached out and grabbed your hand. “He’s happy now,” she said. “Let’s focus on that. That's all we can do.” 

***

The days were slow and fast, all at once. 

You and Bob had fallen into a rhythm. He made coffee while you slept in, and the two of you would sit in bed and drink the coffee when it was ready, the blinds pulled open. You filled your days with activities like painting the nursery or going to the farmer’s market, Phoenix’s doctor’s appointments, your own doctor’s appointments. 

There was a conflicting feeling in your chest every time you walked into a medical office. 

The doctors were adamant everything about the baby was perfect. You heard the heartbeat on the ultrasound monitor, you opted in for genetic testing. 

They were less convinced about your own prognosis. 

One day, you and Bob left an appointment and drove home in silence. You excused yourself to go outside, read in the backyard. 

When you crept inside an hour later, you heard soft sobs coming from the direction of the nursery. 

Your heart squeezed as you tiptoed nearer, Bob’s soft cries plainly heard through the cracked door. The nursery wasn’t finished. You still needed to get a glider and a dresser for a changing table, and you hadn’t bought nearly enough clothes so there were just empty tiny hangers in the closet. 

Bob sat on the floor near the crib, the one item of furniture you had managed to buy, his face buried in his hands. You watched from the doorway as his shoulders shook. The way he tried to silence himself. 

He couldn’t even hear you over his own tears as you made your way across the room, putting one hand on his shoulder. Bob startled under your touch, refusing to look at you until he wiped under his eyes furiously. 

“Bobby?” you whispered softly. 

He shook his head. “I’m fine. What do you want for dinner, darlin’?” 

“You’re not fine,” you said, sitting down next to him, one of your thighs overlapping his. You ran a thumb beneath his eyes, flicking away the tears. His glasses were smudged and foggy and you felt your heart break. “It’s OK, you know,” you whispered. “It’s OK not to be fine. It’s OK to be sad. It’s OK to mourn the things we’ll never have.” 

“How is any of this OK?” he demanded. 

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Why did you wait so long?” His voice was climbing. Anger poured out of him. You would take the anger over the sadness. “To tell me? We could have had more time.”

You shook your head. “We had as much time as we needed,” you murmured. 

“No amount of time is enough,” Bob insisted, his hands warm in yours. “It’ll never be enough.” 

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “Let’s just be happy with what we have,” you said softly. “I’ll love you forever, Bobby. No matter what.” 

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[eastvillagetripster]

Eyes on 10th

Detail from the community mural on the Charas community center, East 10th Street off of Avenue B, East Village, New York City.

[southeastasianists]

Penang is well-known for its vibrant Straits Chinese Peranakan culture, but if you know where to look, there’s another chapter to its history. While the focus is often on the marriage between overseas Chinese traders marrying local Malay women, the truth is, the Chinese were not the only traders conducting business in George Town. Merchants from around the region were familiar with Penang, having already flowed through Penang on various trading missions.

Between the 10th and 18th centuries, traders and migrants from India, Persia, and the Middle East arrived in Penang. Their marriages with local Malay women gave rise to a new branch of the Peranakans, known as Jawi Peranakan, with Jawi denoting Southeast Asian Muslims, and Peranakan taking its meaning from the Malay word ‘anak’, or child. Over time, this group expanded to include those who had Arab-Malay ancestry. In Penang, they were also once known as Jawi Pekan. 

The Jawi Peranakan cuisine, much like its Chinese cousins, draws on cultural exchanges between Malay cuisine and its Indian, Arab, and Persian influences. Jawi Peranakan dishes tend to feature ingredients from India and the Middle East, including ground almonds and cashews, saffron, and rosewater. The cuisine of the Jawi Peranakan was generally recognized to be more lavish, and was often served during feasts and special occasions. 

To get a taste of this chapter of Peranakan history, visit Jawi House, located on Armenian Street in the heart of George Town’s downtown heritage district. The house was recently renovated in 2012 according to UNESCO World Heritage Guidelines, but it has existed for six generations. It was established by the Karim family of Punjabi-Jawi Peranakan history, and today functions as not just a restaurant showcasing a modern take on Jawi Peranakan cuisine, but also as a small gallery charting the family’s history as well as classic handcrafted art. Helmed by Chef Nurilkarim Razha, a descendant of the Karim family, the restaurant offers up iconic Jawi Peranakan fare. Popular dishes include lamb bamieh, a fragrant, aromatic Persian-inspired okra and tomato-based lamb stew; serabai, a Malay kuih which resembles a tangy, spongier pancake made from fermented rice batter and served with caramel kaya (coconut jam); and nasi lemuni, an herbaceous rich rice dish cooked with butterfly pea flowers and the herb Vitex trifolia.

[beardedmrbean]

When dozens of protestors halted traffic on a major Los Angeles highway this week, it was the latest in a string of major public calls for a ceasefire in the Israel-Hamas war. The demonstration, led by the notorious anti-Israel group IfNotNow, followed a vote for a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas from 153 countries (the U.S. voted against) during an emergency special session of the United Nations General Assembly.

As an Israeli Jew who helped Palestinian civilians during my five year service in the Israeli Defense Forces, I would love nothing more than for our two peoples to live side by side in peace. Innocent Palestinians deserve every freedom and to realize their national aspirations. Sadly, the only thing standing between us and a ceasefire is Hamas, a terrorist organization whose raison d'etre is to eliminate Israel and kill Jews.

For this reason alone, calls for a ceasefire are neither a commitment to human rights nor an effort to preserve life. Instead, they are a demand that Jews not defend themselves from genocide.

To pretend that this isn't the case not only ignores the reality on the ground but is deeply antisemitic and an outright denial of the Indigenous connection and national rights that Jews have to Israel.

Public demands for a ceasefire will do little more than serve an aggressor who has violated past ceasefires at will, including on Oct. 7 when Hamas violated an existing ceasefire in order to kill, torture, rape, and kidnap thousands of innocent people. In 2014 alone, Israel agreed to nine truces were implemented during a 51-day conflict. Even a poll from the Washington Institute of Near East Policy on October 10th showed that a majority of Gazans themselves did not support breaking the latest ceasefire agreement, something Hamas leadership did without regard to the agreement or the lives of citizens on both sides.

A ceasefire requires not one but two partners, yet the international community continues to turn its head away from the fact that a ceasefire is not a goal for Hamas. Hamas' objective is to kill Jews, an objective its pattern of breaking past ceasefires has made clear. As unpleasant as the reality is, calls for a ceasefire are calls to perpetuate and promote antisemitic violence against innocents.

One can criticize Israel without being antisemitic, the pro-Palestinian faction says. I agree with that statement. But calling for a ceasefire at this juncture is not criticism; it's a dogwhistle, a demand that Jews to lay down and accept the attacks against them.

Calls for ceasefire also conveniently ignore the connection between Israel and Jews. Zionism is a movement for the re-establishment of the Jewish nation of Israel following centuries of Jewish diaspora. Formally established in 1948, Israel became a beacon of hope for Jews worldwide experiencing persecution.

My own family exemplifies this reality. Concurrent with the Holocaust in Europe, Jews in the Middle East faced violent dispossession just for being Jewish. My Iraqi grandmother was just a child in 1941 when she experienced the Farhud, a two-day pogrom against the Jewish population of Baghdad. During these days of antisemitic violence, my grandmother witnessed her best friend being raped and murdered in the streets of Iraq, just for being Jewish. Meanwhile, Tunisian Jews like my paternal grandfather were conscripted to detention camps and forced labor in a gulag, where conditions were barbaric.

Even though we and the world have seen all this before, Israel nevertheless committed to a ceasefire on November 21, an agreement that included an exchange of all hostages taken on October 7 as well as Hamas putting a stop to all missiles launched into Israel. Predictably, Hamas began firing rockets into Israel fifteen minutes into that ceasefire. They also slaughtered four Israelis on Nov. 30 in Jerusalem, and continued attacking Israeli soldiers in Gaza.

To those with genuine hearts who just want the suffering and carnage to stop, know that I am with you. I understand the hurt you are feeling and pray every day for an end to this war so we can begin the difficult process of healing and peace.

As hopeful as I am, I am also realistic: Hamas started this war on Oct. 7, and the only thing that guarantees an end to all the pain and suffering for Israelis and Gazans is for Hamas to lay down its weapons and release the 135 hostages.

Pressuring Israel, which is on a rescue mission to release its citizens from captivity and bring a group of barbaric death agents to justice, will do nothing to bring peace of mind to humanity or peace to the region.

I am certain that this is clear to many of those calling for a ceasefire. But much like the chant "from the river to the sea," the calls for "a ceasefire" have turned into another thinly veiled euphemism for the destruction of the Jewish state that is meant to fool the American public.

Hen Mazzig is a Senior Fellow at the Tel Aviv Institute and the author of The Wrong Kind of Jew: A Mizrahi Manifesto.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.

[gotankgo]

«Graffiti artist Futura 2000 with Keith Haring at the Fun Gallery, East 10th Street, 1983

photo: Sophie Bramly»

[kafkasapartment]

Party, Artist and Couple East 10th Street, Greenwich Village, New York, 2022. Gail Albert Halaban. Pigment print.