see how beautiful harlem is?

stunning, right? taken earlier this afternoon as i was zipping down the cherry walk on my bike. enjoy.

for your viewing pleasure

now that october is upon us, it's time for halloween: stocking up on candy for the kiddies that may stop by or the neighborhood thugs that will invariably bang on the door; pulling together a costume from out of your own closet so you won't have to get something generic and pricey from ricky's; haunted houses that really scare you; and scary movies that sometimes freak you out way after the fact.

halloween is one of the nights i almost always stay home if i'm in new york city. everything seems so safe these days, even in the ghetto. but it's still new york city, no matter how sanitized everything is. i mean, honestly. if you want the suburbs, move to long island.

there are a lot of scary movies out there -- this is a list of 50 of the (supposedly) most popular ones of all time -- but nothing is more frightening to most folks than the truth. with that in mind, here's a few documentaries to consider when it's time to make some kettlecorn and dim the lights.

ah, yes -- h.h. holmes: america's first serial killer. at first glance, he looks a little too much like daniel day-lewis' bill the butcher, blue eyes and all. the bestseller the devil in the white city entwines his gorey antics with daniel h. burnham, the architect of the chicago world's fair. i don't know what creeped me out more -- the elaborate hotel he built to efficiently murder travelers or the fact that he tortured, killed and dissected small animals as a child.



this one is pretty disturbing -- the iceman interviews. with an expressionless face, infamous mob hitman richard kuklinski recounts one murder after another in this unaffected monotone that should guarantee at least one solid nightmare after viewing. you know what's really creepy? this guy spent his last few years of freedom with his wife and three children in a new jersey suburb.



...and of course, no halloween eve should end without ed gein: the ghoul of plainfield. if you don't know who this is, you are the unibomber, living in a cave, cut off from society and all that rot. can you believe ed died in 1984? i mean, wow. that's kind of recent...

watch out -- this one is hella graphic. (sure, it's halloween when you'll see this so you're expecting gore of some kind. i'm jus' sayin'...)




any creepy documentaries on your list? please recommend a few. i'm always looking for more...

...between...

nablopomo's theme for the month of october is between. of course, that could mean anything. my immediate thought is of indian summer -- that strange expanse in between fall and winter that can bring stunningly beautiful sunny breezy blue sky days or an absolute water-logged slosh fest. or both! in nyc, you get the full visual spectrum of the changing seasons. a constant sunny blue sky year round sounds like fun but it seems abnormal, somehow. kind of like dealing with someone who grins at you all the time. after awhile, wouldn't you think there was something wrong with that?

all those women in that movie a boy and his dog with their pasty faces and painted on overly rosy cheeks and lipstick. full of sunshine, totally disturbing and strange. i guess that's why some people have a fear of clowns. that fear is called coulrophobia, by the way.  geez. i guess there really is a name for everything.

if you haven't seen a boy and his dog, it's worth watching. here's the promo. it stars a very young (and very pretty) don johnson.

nyc avalanche

i'm up to my neck in rewrites for next week's show at dixon place and another funky fresh idea that i can't stop thinking about, i'm decluttering the apartment a little every day and editing my closets in anticipation of fall/winter, i'm assembling everything i'll need to make a cool video for my kickstarter campaign to finish my black americana album and all i can think of, aside from how slow i am in boxing conditioning class when i'm doing mitt work and how badly i need a mani/pedi, is this bread pudding recipe. that bourbon sauce looks potent.

i'm almost afraid to make it because i'll just eat most of it, so the next dinner party is going to get a nice big one, hot and fresh. in the meantime, i'm bringing letitia a green tomato pie to our brooklyn rehearsal tomorrow night. won't she be pleased?

in the meantime, the great news is that i'm running 2 miles a day -- pushing towards hitting a 10 minute mile. i hate running, so i figure if i do a mile right after each boxing conditioning class and get it overwith, i'll raise my stamina considerably. somehow, after wearing myself out so thoroughly and leaving the room with an all over ache that only a long sitdown in a steam room can get rid of, running that fast for that long is nothing.

"what do you do in boxing class, anyway?"

aside from pounding that bag, some simple stretches, variations on the push up, the sit up and the jump squat -- and of course running around the room and up and down staircases ad nauseum -- exactly what kind of excercise do i do in a circuit boxing class?

i'm glad you asked.

here's a few videos to illustrate some of what usually happens in an hour. i try really hard to do two sessions a day. there are some days when i'll do three, if things flow a certain way. the thing is, there is usually someone calling me out by name if i'm not giving 100% the whole time i'm in that room. and i'm in there for what feels like an eternity. for some reason, i have this bad habit of looking at the clock when i think a fair amount of time has passed -- probably because i'm sweating so hard i can't see -- and wow, its only been 10 frackin' minutes.

the routine i'm in now leaves room for three trainers: gennaro (who may as well be a negro and who yells a lot), negro (who isn't a negro and who mumbles a lot) and jay (who is from long island -- nuff said). sometimes there is george and sometimes there is son of gennaro. no longer do i wander off with anyone i don't know. i don't want any surprises anymore.

i've made a lot of progress physically and i've lost some weight but i still feel as though i've got to get in shape on some basic level so i can get through the whole class without having to stop because i feel as though i'm going to pass out. or die. when i can zip through class comfortably, i will believe that i'm in shape.

until then, here's what i'm up against.

mountain climbers -- this sister gives a great explanation of the right way to do this one. unbelievable, the way it wears my upper body out, in short order.




bear crawl -- we have to do this around the room over and over, and we have to drop and do this over and over and sometimes, he (that is, gennaro) makes us leave the room and do this around the gym over and over. the closer to the ground you get, the more effective it is.




spiderman crawl -- an especially foul move for me because i don't have much upper body strength. and like the bear crawl, the lower you get, the harder it works you.




burpee or squat thrust -- named after dr. royal burpee, this basic movement is the foundation for the burpee test. now there are variations that have found many colorful and interesting ways for me to throw my legs out from under me abrubtly, or repeatedly spring off the ground in short bursts of energy. no small wonder. burpees require agility, speed, coordination and a ton of core strength.




body builders -- he (that is, gennaro) makes me do 100 of these whenever i'm late for class. they are beyond gnarly. this video shows otherwise, but we do a jumping jack that falls into a plank and then a push up and back again. and you know what? i don't walk out. i take it like a man and i do the 100. sometimes he'll stop me before i'm done but lately he's been leaning on me...




focus mitt work -- this is really important because its makeshift boxing against an unknown opponent. the trainer is like a choreographer, putting together combinations on the fly that force me to move with speed and power. in a perfect world, i get used to moving at the torso, blocking shots and letting my movements flow with technique and form.




shadowboxing with weights -- this is what i really feel the next day. throwing my arms out there, even with three pound weights in my hands, is a burning sensation that just won't let up. sometimes he (that is, negro) makes us run around the room and shadowbox with weights.



why do i love boxing so much? i seriously don't know. it's physically way more challenging than anything i've ever done. and maybe that's it, maybe the physical exhaustion and growth is impacting the rest of me so completely, i can't relinquish it. sure, it feels good to hit people -- but it also feels good to get good at it. i can look in the mirror and see wonderful changes coming on. that's a kick in the head.

i love it that boxing is genderless. it's not something that belongs to boys. it's all technique -- and to my way of thinking, that levels the playing field completely. the bottom line is, either you can fight or you can't.

where it takes me is anyone's guess. how long will it take me to get my true body? who knows. what i know for sure is that i'm going to get great at boxing because i can't stop doing it. i can't give it up.

boing-boing!

back in the saddle again after a weekend of running around in philly -- which really is more fun when you sleep over. still thinking about that wonderful king sized bed i slept in at the westin. and of course they have a store! if i could have a bed like that, i'd probably turn into marcel proust and hardly ever get out of it. suprisingly, "pulling a proust" requires a lot more effort than you'd think. and yet, i can remember when i did it so often, i looked forward to disappearing from the world.

i'm up to my neck in boxing sessions, auditions, and rewrites oh my! lifting weights and running every other day, hoping to improve on my lousy bent leg girlie push ups and learn how to work that speed bag. at least i don't have to struggle to keep my gloves up anymore. now that's progress.

working on a new idea for the pie contest at the roaring 20s jazz age lawn party on this saturday that's exciting me a great deal. oh, that reminds me: the ultra-cute kit pie contest in a box -- and yes, my pie recipe and i are in there! -- is available everywhere as of june 28. here's what the box looks like!



this clever little box and the fact that i've made all my deadlines and submitted my librettos and manuscripts to the proper channels in the past few weeks makes me feel like a millionaire.

oy!

i recovered from last night's fabulous friday night fish fry and the japanese flag i found myself flying unexpectedly by sleeping in, hanging out at a fun family picnic in brooklyn and then wandering through the russian riviera with my permanent boyfriend.

we watched the sun fade as we sipped italian white wine and noshed on cheeses and such, and held each other and whispered sweet nothings and watched a scary movie.

and now i sit, practicing guitar and absentmindedly watching some tim burton movie while one of my well-off neighbors smokes some pretty strong pot in the well-groomed backyard of their tony brownstone.

happy days.

the things i'm going to miss

i'm going to miss boxing class today and all the stuff that goes with it -- the run that happens when i come out of the room and the steam/sauna that happens after that. but mostly sparring with my instructor and pounding that bag.

i'm going to miss that long and arduous bike ride up and down the west side highway's bike lane, because i've got so much crap to do that only a fast-moving train will accommodate me.

i'm going to miss sleeping in and daydreaming and chugging water mindlessly and yes, i will miss my guitar.

i am in audition and callback purgatory. that means everything and nothing. it's like chasing a shadow in the midst of a fog that disappears as suddenly as it arrives. even if you get whatever it is, there's always the possibility that it can slip through your fingers like a vapor. they can edit your character out of the scene or even the entire episode. they can call you back ten times and then not give it to you. or they can go in another direction after you're absolutely certain that it's yours. (that one is my personal favorite - it's such a great way to say "we don't want you.")

and yet, i jump through those hoops.

it's a full time job, to stay in a constant state of readiness. more and more, it feels like that's a battle that i'm winning. probably because i'm into boxing and it's fun, and i'm getting my body back. once i get the gig in question, the work is fun, too. getting lost in that process, growing into a character, shooting ideas into the air and trying new things. that's too much fun.

no -- the audition is where the fun stops. the audition is the work. it is punishing, it is backbreaking, it is unforgiving. sometimes i'm good at it. (i think.)

i've got to stick to my routine in my downtime. (stick and move, stick and move...) tom petty was right. the waiting is the hardest part.

am i a hoarder?

after seeing one too many episodes of that A&E tv show hoarders, i spent the better part of the day in my junk room, sorting, organizing and throwing things away. most people i know who live in nyc don't have a room to shove stuff into, to make the rest of the apartment look halfway decent. i've been doing it for years, so you can imagine what it looks like. that room has spoiled me. if things keep going this way, it will undo me. i need it now -- or rather, we need it now -- so circumstance has forced me to seriously deal with everything in there. and of course, nothing makes it happen like a deadline.

i don't know what it is -- change in the weather, weight loss, hanging out at everyone else's hot spots, or the nightmarish situations those filthy obsessive people get themselves into -- but for some strange reason, i'm turning into howard hughes.

or maybe i'm just reveling in the special feeling that only a clean room can give me.

feng shui says the first rule is, declutter. wish me luck. i'd like to give myself a cleaned out second bedroom for my birthday.

and no. i'm not a hoarder. things are in complete and utter disarray in there, but i know where everything is.

...zzzzz...

there's a lot going on this weekend -- big apple bbq in madison square park, the puerto rican day parade, tony awards parties, world cup parties -- but because i took two boxing classes tonight, i'll be in hibernation: oversleeping, daydreaming and spring cleaning.

oh, yeah. someone suggested i take "before" pictures in a bikini so i can chart and monitor my progress. not a bad idea. photos don't lie -- and neither do scales.

and now a word from our sponsor

hey, new york/tri-state area folk! believe it or not, there's going to be an actual new orleans style second line jazz parade in three different neighborhoods in the city this month. for details, click here. and yes, i'm going.

grillin' in the ghetto

if you live in this town and you have a backyard, a terrace or even rooftop access -- or some other wonderful way to grill at home -- this post is definitely not for you. i'm talking to the rest of us -- those who take to the city parks, the sidewalks -- and yes, the occasional fire escape! -- to roast that meat. in the face of imminent gentrification, unemployment and/or freelancing woes, and The Rising Cost of Everything in New York City, i am determined to live in the ghetto that is west harlem and have my fun.

is it delicious? yes! is it illegal? yes! does everyone do it? of course! memorial day weekend will find absolutely everyone in riverbank state park, grilling tasty things to perfection. this year, i hope to be amongst their ranks.

the requirements are few but very very important. first of all, the grill must be light, as in not heavy. secondly, they must be easy to carry. and last but not least, they must be inexpensive. less than $100? okaaay. less than $50? nice. less than that, if i can catch something on sale.

here's a rundown of my top five "charbroil it!" situations so far.

1. portable bbq grill -- i'm not a fan of pottery barn, but i'm thinking seriously about getting this one. it's hideable, lighter than light, quite portable. and at 29.99, it's kind of affordable. and cute!
2. notebook portable grill -- this thing is impressive. it weighs a whopping 8 pounds, it's got 192 square inches of cooking space (18 in x 18 in), it's got a carrying handle and it's less than fifty bucks.
3. cast iron hibachi bbq grill -- when i had my initial jaunts to harlem to hang out with my big brothers back in the day, this is what they were working with on the fire escape: standard issue cast iron, sure -- but it was so durable that when it fell accidentally (we were on the 3rd floor), one of them just went downstairs, picked it up and cranked it all over again. (ah, harlem in the 80s/90s...those were the good ol' days!) those adjustable racks made it kind of irresistable. and so did the price. only thirty clams!
4. son of hibachi portable bbq grill -- if i could legitimately grill -- on the beach, say, or even at some tailgaiting function or whatever -- this would be the one for me. when you're done, this thing folds into a self-cleaning oven and it self-extinguishes and slides into a flame-retardant snuff out pouch. here's the kicker: it saves your charcoal. priced out at seventy-something. (not bad...)
5. cobb portable grill -- this is the one i'm probably going to get. it's only 8.5 pounds, it can roast, bake, smoke or fry and even make a pizza (!!!), so i can basically do whatever i want. (and i love doing whatever i want.) it doesn't require much coal, it's easy to take apart and clean, it's cool to the touch so i can pick it up and go if the cops come along and tell me i have to leave. and yeah, it's a c-note.

that's right, people -- that would be me in a madras plaid bikini on a cowboy blanket in a park somewhere uptown near the river reading zora neale hurston and roasting oysters with some cops looking the other way. that would most definitely be me...

(don't worry, i'll take lots of pictures.)

the new york reality tv school

if you thought you saw me on the today show the other day, you were right. i was a returning student in the new york reality tv school. (blink and you missed me -- seriously.) the truth is, i've decided that i want to produce and star in my own reality tv series -- that means 6 episodes, folks -- because i think it would be a great way to introduce my black americana sound to the world.

i'd love to tell you more, but from what i'm told, i really shouldn't. so i won't.

double yikes

what a hot stinking mess. a 22 year old rookie cop named patrick pogan (only 2 or 3 weeks on the job) slams into a peacefully protesting biker named christopher long out of nowhere, then lies about it in his written report, saying that the biker tried to run into him. his daddy is a retired cop that didn't hesitate to stick up for his foul behavior, so evidently this is the family business.

of course, they took his gun and his badge and now he's riding a desk. i'll bet you a dollar and a twinkie that he gets transferred to another precinct when all of this quiets down. he needs to get fired, with a quickness -- before he kills somebody.

read all about it here.

here's what i'll be doing this weekend...

my friend is out of town for the san diego comic con. it's been a whirlwind of activity ever since he left! crazy fun! here's a glimpse of what my weekend holds. who says NYC isn't fun anymore? oh, yeah -- i did. (heh.)

and yes, i wish he was here.

1. for starters, i'm wandering through MoMA with Chris Adams for the better part of the afternoon. we'll probably do lunch there. later that night, there's a super-secret surprise party for a showfolk friend at a bar in midtown and then if i'm feeling groovy, i may venture down to the slipper room to say hello. great way to start the weekend.
2. If i don't go to my cousin's BBQ in long island, i'm seriously thinking about entering The Great American Pie-Off at Bowery Electric, 7/26 , 4pm - 7pm -- because my friend thinks i make the best pie ever. and so do i. maybe that means it's time to share it with the world.
3. Jef Lee Johnson at the Jalopy Theatre, 7/26 @8pm -- here's what the promo blurb says: "Guitarist Jef Lee Johnson is well-known as a session musician, playing for everyone from pop stars like Aretha Franklin and Billy Joel, to smooth jazz vocalists like Phyllis Hyman and Rachelle Ferrell, to fearless experimentalists like Ronald Shannon Jackson and McCoy Tyner. (He even has a mid-'80s stint as the lead guitarist in Paul Shaffer's World's Most Dangerous Band, the house band for Late Night With David Letterman, under his belt.) His solo albums, starting with 1996's Blue, are equally wide-ranging affairs, veering from straightforward pop songs to guitar-noise experiments that recall both Sonny Sharrock and Sonic Youth." not to be missed.
4. Naked Ping Pong in Union Square, 7/27 @ 12pm -- i should take my niece zoe to this one.
5. Chris Adams' Going Away Party, 7/27 @ 4pm -- that trip to MoMA was our last moment in the city. he's moving back to the ATL at the end of the month. truth be told, i miss him already.
6. The Wet Spots at the Zipper Factory, 7/27 @ 8pm -- here's what their promo blurb says: "Picture a husband and wife team from the golden age of comedy. Now picture them singing sweetly about threesomes and taking it in the ass. Internationally acclaimed cabaret duo The Wet Spots (Cass King and John Woods) write the most elegant songs about sex that you will ever hear." nuff said.

aside from this, there's another birthday party on saturday night, an audition, parties with the africans in harlem and more goings on at the gym. i'm going to have a long soak and a beauty day on monday and maybe go see the dark knight at the director's guild in the afternoon.

life is good.

the old lady at the door

in the apartment down the hall that faces the street there lives an old lady and her small dog. a young woman lives with her, too. twentysomething. past college, easily. young and working and playing in the city. i've seen her chatting with paul and chad. paul is the one that introduced us. and yes, her name escapes me.

i'm not sure if she is the old lady's niece or her granddaughter or what but they seem close. the old lady is puerto rican or probably dominican. she speaks no english. in the few times that i've seen her in the hallway, she's usually carrying on a running conversation with her dog. the young woman looks white but she speaks spanish. they have the same heavy-lidded brown eyes, the same wiry determined frame. the same kind of pretty.

sometimes during the day when everything has levelled off sonically and there is a lull in the construction, i can hear the old lady at the door. at first i thought it was my bad 8th grade spanish playing tricks on me. but no. it was definitely her, and she was completely distraught. later, i asked paul and chad about it -- because they lived right next door to them, they must have seen and heard much more than i ever could. paul (who's nosy enough to know) said that the old lady is going senile. when the young woman leaves for work, she locks the door with a special lock from the outside in, so the old lady can't unlock it and wander off. evidently, she fell into the habit of doing just that and was found some blocks away in her gown and robe and slippers, her hair in pincurls, confused and scared, her little dog at her feet, faithfully following her lead.

the young woman comes home on her lunch hour to make sure that she's alright. but when she leaves, she locks her in again, and i can sometimes hear her messing around with the doorknob and the locks as her little dog scratches at the door and she begs for help in spanish.

today was especially bad, probably because it was almost 100 degrees outside. i'm sure she's okay, i reasoned to myself as i went into my apartment. i'm sure she has plenty of water. i'm sure the a/c is on. i'm sure that she's eaten breakfast. i'm sure that white-looking dominican girl will be here soon. i'm sure there's food and water in there for the dog. i'm sure, i told myself again and again. but the truth is, i wasn't sure. and neither was anyone else.

i went into my apartment with my mail and my groceries and my piano lesson and my problems. but i couldn't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard i practiced. so i went back out there, into that hot, sun-drenched hallway, to face the source of all of that whimpering.

as i approached the door with what little spanish i knew, i could hear the dog scratching, and when i spoke he began to bark. but she quieted it down with one sharp word. i heard myself talking through the doorjam and asking her: es mucho calor, no? que haces? tienes hambre? que quieres? somehow, we began to talk.

(evidently, that spanish i took in middle school still works. don't let them fool you, not for a minute -- nothing learned is ever wasted.)

of course i thought of my grandmother in charleston, sc and how comfortable her life is right now and what i would do if it were her and me against the world. it would break my heart to have to lock her up in an apartment in an urban setting like this one, but i'd do it in a heartbeat if that's what it took to keep a job and pay the rent.

the old lady was fine, sort of. she didn't like feeling trapped and i think that more than anything else, she wanted her husband. he died in the apartment a few years ago. either she thinks he's lost outside somewhere or she's waiting for him to come back from the store, or both. or something else. hey, my spanish isn't that good. but it was a nice chat.

she may be senile, but she isn't blind. apparently, she knows what i look like. she kept calling me morena.

sean bell protests start at 3pm today!

for interactive map, click here!

i don't know if you're aware of it or not, but there are pray-in protests scheduled at 3pm today in 6 strategic pockets in the city, led by al sharpton and sean bell supporters, as well as mr. bell's friends and family. the intent is to create enough of a furor peacefully to get the federal government to prosecute the police for violating sean bell's civil rights. ideally, the streets will be flooded with people in prayer from harlem to brooklyn -- but i'm not sure how viable that is when the police can arrest you if you are in a group without a permit or if you do not disperse when you are told to do so.

after the nonviolent protests of the 60s and 70s, the state, federal and local authorities know how to deal with this kind of outrage. they know how to process it through the jails and the court systems. and they have laws in place to prosecute them -- for nonviolent protesting. people who aren't involved and who could care less will inevitably feel beset upon -- because if people gather anywhere near the numbers that they're anticipating, it will bring rush hour traffic to a screeching halt.

i think the only way left to protest something like this is to write a song about it that everyone will want to hear and sing along to -- something that is so innocuous, they won't even know what they are singing about, until it's too late.

still and all, i think a pray-in protest is a noble gesture. and at least someone somewhere is doing something -- because dying in a hail of bullets is the last thing that sean bell deserved.

the swedish cottage in nyc

my friend and i were tromping around walking through central park after the last big snow in february after spending the early afternoon in MoMA. somewhere in there, we came upon this sign:

"imported from sweden in 1876?" my curiousity was piqued. it was a beautiful little place. immediately i thought of gunnar and wondered what he would think of this little bit of sweden in the middle of the city. is it authentic? it must be.

sometimes its really overwhelming, the way the unexpected can overtake you so suddenly in this town. sweden? who would've thought it? everytime i turn around, i trip up over something wonderful in the city to explore that i've never seen before, that's been there forever and that is decidedly and distinctively not american. i've criscrossed the park a jillion times but i'd never walked from central park south (midtown) to central park north (harlem). and i'd definitely never seen this cottage. but this is located beyond the popular zones like sheep's meadow and the bandshell and all that. further up isn't as congested and so it feels more like a sanctuary, like its my own private back yard.

if gunnar ever came to visit, we could actually have a day of swedish everything, right in the city. i suppose we'd have to end up at aquavit. i really love the food there.

why?

i know, i know. he was mentally deranged, he had a hairbrush and they thought it was a gun. i mean, even his momma thought he had a gun. but what about the cop who kept shooting when the victim was down? what about witnesses who said the victim had already dropped the hairbrush by the time the bullets started flying? why did five cops have to shoot him at once? what about the cop who shot at him more than anyone else did -- even when another cop told him to stop, told him the guy was down, why did this particular cop continue to shoot?

why did it take 18 shots to "disarm" this guy? why do they always have to shoot to kill? couldn't they have shot him in the foot or the arm or something, like they used to on the rockford files or whatever? they didn't kill the guy every time they shot at him on hawaii five-0, so why is that the policy now? (i know, i know -- that's television. but still.) why doesn't this "the cops shot him 41 times" or "tomorrow would have been his wedding day" stuff ever happen to white people?

when are cops going to stop getting away with shooting black men?



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Man, 18, Is Fatally Shot by Police in Brooklyn



A young man was fatally shot last night in a hail of 20 bullets fired by five police officers who responded to his mother’s 911 call for help in a domestic dispute in Brooklyn, the authorities said.



The police said they believed that the man, Khiel Coppin, 18, had a gun. But when the gunfire stopped, it turned out that he had been holding a hairbrush.


Officers went into the building at 590 Gates Avenue, in Bedford-Stuyvesant, about 7 p.m. The police said they were responding to a 911 call from the mother reporting domestic abuse and asking for help to “deal with this,” and that on the call a man was overheard threatening to kill her and claiming “I have a gun.”


One resident of the building, Andre Sanchez, 17, said that after the police arrived, he saw from the hallway through the open door of the apartment that the officers inside were talking to Mr. Coppin, who was in a bedroom and opening and closing that door as they spoke.


Mr. Coppin then climbed out a first-floor window and confronted more officers outside the building, and multiple shots were fired at him, bystanders said. Wounded, Mr. Coppin fell to the ground and was handcuffed, witnesses said. He was taken to Woodhull Medical and Mental Health Center, where he was pronounced dead, the police said.


It was unclear how many of the 20 shots hit Mr. Coppin, a law enforcement source said.
Mr. Coppin’s mother, whose name was not released, was among the people outside the building during the shooting. Earlier in the day, she had called a hospital psychiatric unit asking for urgent help in dealing with her son, the law enforcement official said. Psychiatric workers came, but Mr. Coppin was gone. After waiting two hours, the workers left, and later, Mr. Coppin returned.


Two bystanders who said they saw the shooting said that Mr. Coppin was not armed, but was carrying a hairbrush when he climbed out the window and that he dropped it when the firing began. The two witnesses also said they both heard one officer yelling for the shooting to stop.
According to the police, another witness described Mr. Coppin as concealing the hairbrush under his shirt, pointing it outward.


A restless crowd quickly gathered and grew to as many as 150, as some neighbors shouted protests against police brutality. “You need training — this is absurd!” one woman shouted out a window to the police. Another man pressed against a yellow crime-scene tape and said: “I’m not trying to start a riot. I’m just saying it’s not right.”


The site and surrounding blocks were cordoned off as dozens of police officers, detectives and community affairs officers arrived to investigate the shooting and control the crowd. Community leaders at the scene included City Councilman Albert Vann.


Witnesses and the police offered different details about how the shooting occurred.


Mr. Sanchez said that just before the shooting, he went outside and saw several officers there with guns drawn. Mr. Coppin approached the window, backed away, then returned and stood on the sill, Mr. Sanchez said. When an officer told him to get down, he jumped to the ground and started to go through a gate in the fence in front of the building, Mr. Sanchez said.


An officer told Mr. Coppin to put up his hands, and when he did he dropped the hairbrush and the shooting began, although one officer called out to stop the gunfire, Mr. Sanchez said.
Officers started chasing Mr. Sanchez and knocked him to the ground after, he said, he protested: “Why you got to shoot him like that, for nothing?”


A similar description of the shooting was given by Precious Blood, 16, who said she heard about 10 shots fired, most if not all by one officer. Another officer called out: “Stop, stop, stop shooting — he’s down,” she said, but the shooter kept firing, “like he was playing with a toy.”


The law enforcement official gave a different version of the encounter, saying that Mr. Coppin charged toward the officers and refused repeated orders to stop. The police said they were also exploring the possibility that Mr. Coppin was trying to prompt a shooting, a phenomenon known as “suicide by cop.”


Mr. Coppin’s mother was at the 79th Precinct station house last night and gave a statement to the police, they said.


The five officers who fired all passed Breathalyzer tests, the law enforcement officials said.


Al Baker and Annie Correal contributed reporting.

what would you do?

my friend and i were walking up 3rd avenue from midtown some time ago, when the weather was warmer than it is now. the sun was waning and everything was on the verge of changing into another season, but not really. everyone was out on the street all over the place with their kids and their dogs and their kids on tricycles and whatnot. like the sidewalk was their backyard. it wasn't particularly crowded, but there were people everywhere.

we were on our way to ej's luncheonette for dinner. they have great chili, texas style.

i can't remember what we were talking about. what i do remember is that this woman sort of materialized out of the crowd and kept a steady pace directly in front of us. she wore her hair in a bun and she was terribly pasty and she looked taller than she actually was, in those strappy silvery sandals. as the gauzy dress swirled around her, my friend and i fell silent. and then we looked at each other with the same thought hovering over our heads in one collective glassy thought-bubble: we could see straight through the dress! we could see her thin flat backside and the flab that twitched with every step. we could see that thong that was so much darker than the dress that for a minute there, i figured she must have wanted everyone to see her backside. we could see everything.

i'm going to say something, i whispered. no, you're not, my friend hissed, grasping my arm. (clearly, this wasn't the first time he'd done that.) what's she gonna do? go home and change?
and i said, well, yeah. so then he countered with, you don't think she knew what she looked like when she left the house? i thought about that one. i mean, who doesn't have a set of flesh colored bra and panties? don't they make slips anymore? didn't all of that gauze come with some sort of filmy underlay, or something?

i felt sorry for her. i thought, that could be me, walking down the street naked. did other people notice? were we the only ones who could see this spectacle? did anyone else care? i would want someone to tell me something. i told that to my friend. he made a face and shook his head, saying no you wouldn't.

so the three of us walked along in grand strides and as we did, my friend explained that in polite society, people wouldn't say or do certain things. like yell in the street. or draw attention to themselves. or be rude to anyone, in any way. that's the behavior of true aristocracy -- but the thing is, they have enough handlers to insulate them from having to interact with people and live in situations that might compell them to raise their voices above a conversational tone. they never have to yell at anybody. that's somebody else's job.

as i told my friend my favorite story about jackie o. that epitomized this way of life, the visibly naked lady took a right turn and disappeared into a movie premiere private party that left us not wondering who she was. and i was left to wonder: what would my life be like if i behaved like an aristocrat?