the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Month: January 2008 (Page 2 of 3)

The Great Interview Experiment

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Note:  If you are interested in the 2009 version of the Great Interview Experiment, please go here.

This was V-Grrrl‘s recent comment on my last post about blogging awards, blogrolls, blah blah blah.

i am nobody
who are you
are you nobody too?

I know she was riffing on the somebody vs. nobody idea that I was writing about in the post, but I’m sure a lot of us think this way. For me, the Blogosphere was supposed to erase this old school, hierarchical type of thinking. It’s the reason I started to blog. I’m not a nobody online. The minute I posted my first post, I was a “published” writer. Even if my writing sucked. Even if my audience was one crazy guy from Ohio and my mother.

Gimmicks like Blog Awards are fun because it gives people a chance to socialize with each other, but the concept is mostly for old farts. It is as meaningful as the Oscars, mostly good only for self-promotion. The really best blogs will never be nominated because you don’t even know they exist. Besides, blogging is so much bigger than that, and works on a whole different level. The fascinating part of the medium is that I can write about my talking Penis and have some guy in Iran read my blog, and soon his Penis wants to talk, too! And then, his wife, hearing the sound of love, wants to overthrow the government! And because of one blog post, the whole world is filled with freedom and love and happiness! Now that’s inspiring. I’m all for your personal blog being all about you. That’s how I view my blog. But blogging is more than your own blog. It is the thrill of the freedom of expression, and the random and unlikely connections that we make with each other. And who can forget the importance of comments? Comments alone can MAKE a post interesting.

For two years now, ever since my brief stint writing about personal bloggers on Blogebrity, I’ve been complaining about how a combination of hierarchy, elitism, advertising, and plain old human insecurity will make the internet a less interesting place, especially to be a personal blogger lost in the loudmouth world of politics, celebrities, and product placement. Of course, as the blogosphere matures and becomes fragmented and cliquish, it is a losing battle. But, like the last Spartan warrior, I keep on fighting.

Did you ever notice that whenever some expert is being interviewed on Oprah or the Today show, the person just happens to have a book coming out the following week? It’s as it wasn’t important to tell us the cure for cancer until the guy’s book comes out, and then they don’t even tell you the cure so you have to buy the book. I’ve seen some bloggers being interviewed by other bloggers. It’s usually the same as it is on TV. Those interviewed are persons deemed “worthy” of being asked important questions about the world. They have a popular blog, a project coming out, or a specific expertise. We instantly find these people even MORE interesting because someone took the time to interview them. It’s like Obama’s campaign didn’t even start until Oprah sat down to talk with him. All of a sudden, everyone went, “Wow, she finds him interesting. He MUST be interesting.” I know most of you won’t agree with me, but I think anyone who decides to write about their life online is interesting, even those who may not do the best job yet of conveying that on paper. We all should be interviewed, at least once.

Here’s how it is going to work. The first person who comments on this post, will get interviewed by me. I will read the person’s blog, then email him ten or so specific questions, hopefully more about his life (what makes them tick) than their favorite blogger (too obvious! — me). I’ll give my interviewee as much time as necessary to answer the questions, but hopefully he’ll finish it by next week. There might be a back-and-forth if the person feel uncomfortable with a question, etc. or if I want to explore a topic further. Finally, when it is all written up, I will polish the draft, send it back, and the interviewee can proudly publish the interview on their own blog.

It doesn’t end there. While I am interviewing the first commenter, he will be interviewing the second commenter. The second commenter will be interviewing the third commenter. Each person should then put their own interview on their own blog, or on the interviewer’s blog, or both (your choice!), answering the questions as openly and honestly as he chooses. Not only will this give others a new way to know you, but we will sabotage the idea of an interview only being for “somebody.” Everyone is somebody.

Update:

If you leave a comment, you’re in…

I will keep on adding to the list of interviewers/interviewees. Theoretically, the list can just keep on going perpetually… There really is no specific deadline. Just think of me as the Jewish mother who will guilt you into doing it ASAP, so as not to be rude to the next guy.

Email me with any questions or if your interviewer flakes out, so we can re-assign you.

Here is a list of the completed interviews.

Technorati Tags: blogging, interviews, The Great Interview Experiment

More on the Last Post

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Therapy was very emotional this week.  I didn’t cry, but I almost did. We weren’t even talking about anything significant.  I was explaining to her about some writing project.  I was having some trouble with the plot. It was difficult to concentrate in the therapist’s office.  She was wearing a pretty dress, and she had sexy legs, and I felt almost too comfortable sitting calmly with a centered human being who was listening to me and was saying that it was OK for me to feel anxious about certain things.  It all felt very intimate and spiritual, and I had quick glimpses in my mind of taking the therapist on the couch, but in a nice, loving way, to thank her for being so kind.  I know I write these sex thoughts too much on this blog, but I’m only trying to be honest here.  These were not sordid thoughts.  These were nice and innocent thoughts.

I took a breath and almost cried.

“What are you thinking?”

“I just feel emotional.”

“Emotional, in what way?”

“I can’t explain it. I feel something overwhelming, but I don’t know what it is.  But it also makes me laugh, because I’m sitting in a therapist’s office, and I’ve seen this movie so many times, and I’m stepping away from myself and watching this scene, knowing that if this was a bad movie, I would break down now and remember how my mother used to hit me with metal hangers.”

“Did something ever happen with your mother?”

I laughed.

“Nah.  Those metal hangers were precious in our house for hanging up clothes.  But I had my mother on the phone before as I was driving to the supermarket, and I said I would call her back in two minutes, and that was four hours ago.  I need to remember to call her back.”

(sorry, Mom. I’ll call you tomorrow)

QUICK CUT to new topic:

I had no intention to write about therapy.  I wanted to discuss my last post.  I read it over and it seemed too jokey.  There was a reason for posting it, which has nothing to do with Blog Awards, even though I titled it Blog Awards.  It has to do with insecurity, something we all have in differing degrees.

The seeds to the post grew from an email I received a month ago.  I never responded to it, because I wasn’t sure how to answer, but I kept the message on a notepad on my desktop, waiting for a inspirational way to reply.

Here it is.   I hope the author doesn’t mind.

Good morning! Neil!

How are you?

I’ve enjoyed reading your blog for the past year – and I was delighted that you had my link on your blogroll…. but suddenly it’s not there anymore? Is there some reason why?

I had your link a while ago… and then moved it to another category. After I realized I was replaced by other fancier blogs on your blogroll… I guess I was jealous and removed yours as well… I want to apologize for acting so juvenile. I would greatly appreciate a critique of how my blog had failed to engage you. Please be gentle.

It would be easy to chuckle at the silliness of this writer’s email, but, in all honesty, I find this person brave for sending it to me.   At first I did laugh.  A critique?  Fancier blogs?  Does this writer actually think that I have a game plan here on Citizen of the Month?

Surprisingly, the email moved me.  It makes me feel emotional, much as I did in the therapist’s office — except for the sexy legs part, of course. We’re all so insecure about so many unimportant things. I know I can be.   Maybe not so much about blogging, but certainly with other parts of my life.

I’ll try to be more thoughtful of the feelings of others.

The Best Blog of 2008

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As you may know, now is the season when all the “Best Blog” Awards are handed out. There are several of these competitions currently running. It is of the utmost importance that you vote for me for “The Best Blog of 2008” in every single one of them. I thank you. I really do consider you all as my personal friends. It would mean so much to me if I were considered “the best of the best.” If I was able to win one of these contests, I would finally be able to hang out with the really big-time bloggers, and not the bunch of losers that I usually… uh, let me rephrase that. I love you. Some of you have fine blogs. Of course, none of them are the caliber of the really cool bloggers such as… I mean, most of you are happy enough just blabbing on and on and on about your boring… cute children. But that’s water under the bridge. You’re nice people. Well, except for a few of the assholes I met last year in Portland. That said, I know you care. Or at least you’re very insecure. No, I think of every one of my blogging friends as an equal. Except for the two bloggers who actually know Dooce personally. They’re special. Well, one of them is. The other one took me off her blogroll. But that’s OK. She’s probably been busy. She’s pretty important in some circles. Although, I do see she comments a lot on the blogs of her friends. Oooh, her friends. You know, maybe she’s been commenting on my blog all this time, but it’s being caught as spam, and I never notice that she’s been commenting. Yeah, maybe. Well, whatever. She’s probably busy. Things will be different soon. Soon, I’ll be “The Best Blog of 2008.” Then, she’ll be reading me again. Yes sir. Good-bye losers. Hello, Dooce. Or whoever Dooce is this year. Is Pioneer Woman this year’s Dooce? Hey — maybe I can be this year’s Dooce? Eh, I doubt it. But what am I complaining about? I have all the really hot babes coming to this blog. That’s something impressive, right? I mean, even if the three female bloggers I actually slept with this year have been as exciting as gefilte fish in the sack. Well, one of them was doped up on 100mg of Prozac, so I can understand her problem. No woman can have a decent orgasm when she’s on that stuff, no matter what position I use with her. But that was my fault for getting involved with her. I totally misunderstood her when she said she was bipolar. I thought she was talking about some kinky sex thing. Live and learn.

Well, like I said — I love you all! And thank you.

(OK, OK, just in case you’re new: Truth factor 0%. Come on, seriously! Do you really think I would let the female blogger go without an orgasm? Even one on Prozac?)

(OK, OK, it is 2AM, Sophia is sleeping. I can write whatever I want, dammit!)

Jokes in Yiddish

Humor is very important. I’d rather hear good jokes than see a naked woman in my bedroom. Of course, if the naked woman was the one telling the jokes, I wouldn’t complain. Especially if she was also carrying a corned beef sandwich.

You see, that was sort of a joke. Not a good one, but then again, you didn’t pay to come to this blog.

Sophia likes to laugh. That’s one of things that keeps us together. Tonight, we watched Bruno and Carrie Ann’s Dance Wars. The song and dance routines were so bad, that we were laughing it up. The show was like a bad high school production, and you couldn’t even blame the writer’s strike. Thankfully, it put us in a happy mood. Who said TV couldn’t couldn’t have a positive effect on personal relationships?

Since I’m on the subject of humor — how many of you have heard a guy tell a real joke in Yiddish? Probably not many of you. I don’t know Yiddish, but I imagine every joke to be much funnier in that language.

Here is a guy telling some jokes in Yiddish. I’d like to imagine that I would be like him if I was born during his generation. Eh, I probably would be too shy. It is much easier writing a blog.

(Mom, if you want to watch this, remember to turn the sound ON)

My Wife is a Midget

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Today’s blog post was nixed by Sophia. She thought it was too personal. I’m respectful of that. She is absolutely amazing. She “allows” me to write pretty much anything I want. Of course, being a tinge passive-aggressive, I wanted to make sure that my artistic freedom was still intact.

Sophia: You need to check with me first before you write anything personal about ME.

Neil: Do you mean WRITE or PUBLISH?

Sophia: Write.

Neil: Well, I appreciate what you are saying, and I respect it, but you can’t tell me WHAT not to write. I can write anything I want about you.

Sophia: No, you can’t.

Neil: Yes, I can. I just can’t PUBLISH it. But I can write it.

Sophia: Well, I don’t want you to write it.

Neil: Sorry. I’m in therapy now. I know my rights. If I want to write that you are, say — a midget, I can write it. As long as I don’t show it to anyone.

Sophia: But I’m not a midget.  I’m not even short.  You can’t write it.

Neil: I can write it. Even if you aren’t.

Sophia: I’ll sue you.

Neil: You can’t sue me for writing it. You can sue me for publishing it. But I can write, “Sophia’s a midget” all day long if I want — a thousand times in my own Microsoft Word — and you can’t do anything about it.

Sophia: How about this?

Sophia hits me on the head with the newspaper. Conversation over.

P.S.. Just for the record, Sophia isn’t a midget, but I have no problem saying it in the privacy of my own home — when Sophia isn’t here.

Vote for Me… Or Else

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I woke up this morning and saw a large manila package outside our door.  I opened the door, still in my underwear, and took it.  It was for Sophia.  Since she was still sleeping,  I took the initiative to open the package myself.  Out came a huge brochure, a press kit, and a free movie pass for a Paul Thomas Anderson-directed movie for Miramax.  I laughed to myself. It was for the SAG awards.  It was that time a year again, despite the Writers’ Strike. The Weinsteins must really want to win and Oscar this year.   Did they really send this to each and every SAG member?

I heard Sophia rustling in bed upstairs.

“You got a package!”

“A package? From whom?” she asked, half asleep.

“Someone really wants you to vote for them! — “There Will Be Blood“.”

“Oh my God.” she replied, her voice cracking nervously. “What did you say?!”

“Someone really wants you to vote for them! — “There Will Be Blood”.”

“Who would do such a thing? Is this a threat?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Sophia stepped out of the bedroom, looking like she spent a little bit too much time on Facebook last night, particularly the US politics application. She heard me say: ” Someone really wants you to vote for them or there will be blood!”

I assured her that Hilary Clinton would never send her a manila package with a threatening message.   She would put a horse’s head in the bed.

The Wider That Her Hips Are

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Have you seen this interesting health news? — Research shows that women with bigger hips have higher IQs than their more slender counterparts. Finally! A way to figure out which readers to dump from my blogroll — the dumb skinny ones. (sorry, size 0 Communicatrix — you just can’t argue with science)

The Wider That Her Hips Are

The wider that her hips are
The higher her IQ
Deena has a nice big ass
So she’s the girl I woo

Mira Sorvino, she’s hourglass
She went to Harvard, did well in class
Keira Knightley, she has no tit
So naturally, she’s as dumb as shit

The wider that her hips are
The higher her IQ
Deena has a nice big ass
So she’s the girl I woo

Her curvy waist, her ample hips
She rides me for an hour
I love the way she conjugates
With all her brainy-power

The wider that her hips are
The higher her IQ
Deena has a nice big ass
So she’s the girl I woo.

Modern Art

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I am here, but do you see me?  I Twitter my voice, but do you know me? 

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I want to step from my box, my canvas, my rectangular prison.

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 I can see your face, but I cannot touch you.

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 I want to feel something.  A touch maybe.  A breath.  Your laughter.

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I imagine you.  Are you wearing red today?  Do you wonder about me?

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Do we look at each other like pieces of art, hanging from the wall, imagining what could be, but never daring?

Sophia’s Dream

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Sophia and I had the worst flight back to Los Angeles. Sophia had a cold. The obnoxious couple in front of us had a crying baby. The airplane was cramped. When we arrived in Los Angeles, LAX was backed up because of the RAIN! We waited in the airplane for two and half hours!

This morning, back at Redondo Beach, Sophia is sick in bed, drugged up on cold medicine. She turned to me as she woke up from an unrestful sleep.

Sophia: “I had a weird dream. But it was so vivid. Like it was real.”

Neil: “About what?”

Sophia: “About the laptop. It was broken.”

Neil: “A virus?”

Sophia: “No, it was physically broken. And I really wanted to use the laptop, but every time I would lift up the top, it would just fall down and do nothing. Like it was weak. It was totally frustrating.”

Neil: “Could you turn it on?”

Sophia: “Of course I can turn it on, that’s not the problem. I kept working on it, over and over again, trying to keep it up. It was as if my life was depending on it. I kept on trying to prop it up. But the top would just fall down, useless. Up, down, up, down. And then I got tired of trying to make it go up, because it would just stay up for a second, then flop down again.”

Neil: “That’s a weird dream to have about your laptop.”

Sophia: “Yeah, it was especially weird because I was actually trying to use YOUR laptop.”

Neil: “My laptop?”

Sophia: “Isn’t that weird? Why would I have this dream?”

Neil: “Hmmm… You know, maybe you should take another Contac, go back to sleep, and hopefully you’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

P.S. — Hey, what do you want? I can’t write heartfelt pieces about Kissena Boulevard forever!

The Slummification of Kissena Boulevard

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This is where I grew up and where my mother still lives. It may not look like much, but it is one of the nicer apartment buildings in my Queens neighborhood. My grandmother lived a few blocks away, in a lower-income apartment. When I was in elementary school and my mother went back to work, I went to my grandparents after school. My grandmother made an excellent tuna fish sandwich, with chopped celery and dill.

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My father was a physical therapist at a city hospital and my mother still works in publishing, so they never made that much money. They worked hard to put me through two very expensive private colleges, just so I could obtain two completely useless degrees — a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in Film. I was totally spoiled by them.

I had an excellent childhood growing up in the Flushing/Kew Garden Hills area of Queens. The public school was good, the public library was two blocks away, and the neighborhood was incredibly diverse — blacks, Jews, Puerto Ricans, Indians, Chinese. I’m still good friends with guys from the neighborhood who I’ve known all my life. They’re the first people I see every time I fly into New York.

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I am so diverse — here I am with my Jewish childhood friend Barry at the Blue Bay Diner in Bayside last week, which looks exactly the same inside as it did when I was in high school.

When I was a child, Queens felt isolated from the excitement of Manhattan, but it was close enough to travel to by subway. (…ok, first you take a bus to get to the subway) My parents took me to museums and concerts all the time, so I was able to participate in the “high culture” of the city. We also lived near Queens College, which had a symphony orchestra. I spent many weekends in the audience with my parents, falling asleep to Schubert.

Although the stores in my neighborhood weren’t very fancy (still no Starbucks!), you could get everything you needed just by walking down the block. There were grocers, a bakery, a Radio Shack, a cleaners, a pharmacy etc. This was perfect for my parents, who didn’t drive a car. It also created entertainment for me. After school, my friend, Rob, and I could pass several hours just stopping in the Kissena Boulevard shops, or reading the comic books in the stationary store.

I only felt embarrassed about “Queens” once I went to Columbia, and met rich kids from the Upper East Side, Beverly Hills, Boston, etc. They had actually gone skiing in Aspen and visited museums in Florence. All of a sudden, Kissena Boulevard was very small time. I began to feel ashamed of my background, like a Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, moving from the steelmill to the hoity-toity ballet studio. It felt as if the entire borough of Manhattan looked down on Queens. The only reason to visit Queens was to go to the airports or see a sporting event. There was even talk about building a new stadium in Manhattan, so there would even be less reason to travel to Queens. Queens was the home of misfits, from Archie Bunker to Ugly Betty. During snowstorms, Manhattan was quickly shoveled by the plows since it is the center of the business and tourism worlds. Queens was always plowed last. Queens had her big moment in 1963-64 when the World’s Fair was in Flushing Meadows Park, but then most of the fair buildings was just left behind to decay.

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“Sorry, we don’t have enough money in the budget to fix the NYS Pavilion.” – Mayor Michael Bloomberg

Eventually, I learned to embrace my Queens neighborhood. There was a cool mix of people on the street, and it felt more “New York authentic” than many of the streets of Manhattan. Today, “Sesame Street” reminds me of Queens, not Manhattan. Big Bird could never afford Manhattan. Sadly, whenever Sophia comes with me to visit my mother, I’m always disappointed that she can’t see the area in the same positive way I do.

“It looks like a slum,” she said recently, as we walked down Kissena Boulevard. This hurt my feelings, especially because, in my heart, despite my romantic view of the neighborhood, I believed the same. At one time, the street was lively, with all sorts of shops and ethnic food. Gene Simmons, who grew up nearby, even named his group KISS, after Kissena Boulevard. Now, the neighborhood has deteriorated almost beyond recognition.

Half of the stores on the block are gated and closed — some stores have been empty for five years! Can’t the management company find any tenants? What happened to the bakery, the pharmacy, the seafood store, the stationery store, the women’s clothing store? Surely some business can make a profit here? People are afraid to walk outside at night because everything looks so abandoned. Why has this happened?

Perhaps the answer can be found on the website of the management company, Pelcorp. On the site, they advertise the entire block, not as available individual stores catering to a community, but only as a 240,000 sq. ft. shopping center. There had been rumors that the landlord isn’t renting out the stores because it’s interested in selling the entire block to a big-box entity like Kmart. This might explain why no stores never seem to be rented, despite having “For Rent” signs plastered on the gates of shuttered stores. Is the management company waiting for the opportunity to unload the entire property at once?

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A view of Kissena Boulevard at noon, a far cry from what this busy street used to look like.

The management company has every right to sell the entire complex if they want to, but should they be allowed to thrust the entire neighborhood into a downward spiral? Who wants to live in an area where more than half the stores have been closed for years?

It is pretty sad state of affairs. I remember how The Garden Bakery made the best onion rolls I’ve ever tasted. There was “Sweet Donut,” a little coffee shop/donut store. Dr. Sakow, the friendly optometrist, fitted me with my first pair of dorky eyeglasses in the third grade. All of these stores are now gone, with no replacements.

Even if the management company does want to sell the entire property, shouldn’t they at least be responsible for its upkeep? What about all the garbage and graffiti everywhere? Why should I be embarrassed to show my wife the “old neighborhood?” Why should my mother have to walk past the junk in the parking lot? People still LIVE in the neighborhood.

At one time, the landlord/management company was a local one, headed by a New York builder. He was always seen around the area because he also created middle-income housing across the street. After his passing, his son took over the real estate property, and it didn’t surprise me at all that his management company is based in Palm Beach, Florida! Out of sight, out of mind.

From their website:

Our President, Prescott Lester, is the fourth generation of Builder Developers. He is responsible for building and developing nearly 3,000 residential units in Palm Beach County, Florida. Projects included Lakes of Laguna in West Palm Beach with 2,204 residential units and Cascade Lakes in Boynton Beach having 556 dwelling units.

Mr. Lester’s Greatgrandfather began building in Brooklyn, New York around the turn of the century. He was followed by his son David Minkin who became one of New York City’s Master Builders. Mr. Lester assisted and succeeds his great uncle, David Minkin, in running the family’s building, management and brokerage operations.

Here is a promotional photo of the late David Minkin, Prescott Lester, and former NY Mets (yeah, Queens!) pitching great Tom Seaver, who has apparently sold his New York baby boomer appeal for some hard cash.

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Despite a history of New York building, the fourth generation of builders now “specializes in the marketing and sale of luxury properties in Palm Beach County. This includes waterfront, country club, and other estate properties.”

The Kissena Boulevard holdings, one of their four retail holdings still in New York, must be their least attractive holding, compared to their shiny new malls in Florida. No wonder they seem so disinterested in the upkeep of Kissena Boulevard!

I talked to a few people in my mother’s building and they are very unhappy with the way Kissena Boulevard looks. Some say they would even move away, if they could afford it. The shopping area is pretty disgraceful, and much of the blame must go to the management company. They have played a major role in making the area look like a slum. Of course, since Pelcorp is in Palm Beach, and the executives don’t get to come to Queens very often, I’ve included some photographs of Kissena Boulevard for Prescott Lester and his partners to see.

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The Pharmacy, now closed, the letters falling from the sign

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The Laudromat, closed

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The shoe store, closed

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The graffiti along the “Wholesale Liquidators” wall

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The garbage along the wall, opposite the closed shoe store

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The kosher deli, closed

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The Rainbow Women’s Clothing Store, closed

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The pharmacy, closed, is now a haven for pigeons

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The Bakery, closed for years

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The fish market, closed

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Ugly graffiti and disrepair along the property walls

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