I worked as an art director and Bill was my boss. It was a small company that made litigation graphics. Major law firms hired us to provide their attorneys with eight-foot-high charts to display during trials. The lawyers would point like Vanna White to charts for the jury to see from 20 feet away.

I said, “Good morning, Bill.”

The three graphic designers I shared the room with and the four from an adjoining room gathered round Bill to launch the morning ritual of stomach-turning sucking up.

“Bill, you look terrific. Great color for you,” Alicia said.

“How was your weekend with the family upstate?” Leo asked.

Big David starts in about football, “Did you catch the game, Bill?”

I just couldn’t stand it anymore, so I grabbed a stack of folders and headed off to the copy machine with my design layouts. Bill came into the narrow room and leaned against the door frame.

“Busy copying?” he asked.

“Yup,” I responded to the painfully obvious question.

Bill walked over and stood way too close. Without warning he leaned in, reached his hand down and yanked the seat of my cotton stretch pants.

“Baggy pants,” he said disapprovingly.

I whirled around and blurted out, “Don’t touch my pants,” and scurried out of the room.

“Why are you always so militant?” he called out after me.

I winced. My arms burned, my stomach churned, and I was sweating. Once back at my desk, I began putting the copied pages into their corresponding job folders. ‘Damn,’ I thought. The whole reason I wore the baggy pants was so he’d stop staring at my ass.

Every day I went home and combed the want ads in the Times, but I couldn’t find anything even close. I was making good money as a designer, had excellent dental and medical benefits, profit sharing, three weeks paid vacation and 12 paid sick days.

It seemed like it would be idiotic to quit. We worked on exciting highly publicized cases like a John Gotti trial, the Central Park jogger case and the Exxon Valdez oil spill. In many ways I loved the job. The work was fun and challenging. My co-workers and I liked to talk about movies and books, and I adored my supervisor, Leo, who shared my kooky sense of humor. But Bill … Bill was a sexist pig and a bully.

Another day Bill slithered up beside me. He was a foot taller than me, so when he put his arm around me as if he was my buddy sliding a hand around my waist, his hand brushed up against and rested on the lower part of my right breast due to our height difference. I felt sure that this “accidental” fondling was intentional. I froze. I wanted to kick myself later for not calling him on it. This was a man who insisted we attend his office pool party every summer.

Bill had a large second home outside of the city. During my first pool party initiation he took me on a tour. Bill showed me the master bedroom and master bathroom. He pointed to the custom-made shower that had a ledge built in. He said, “That’s so my wife and I can do one of those things married people do.” He gestured with his hand to make it clear he was talking about a blow job. I was aghast. Every year after that I tried to figure out a way to skip the pool party. But the one time I did, he tortured me about it for a year.

One day my co-worker Sherri ran over to me, crying. She showed me her weekly time sheet, with a note in Bill’s handwriting. It said, “I’m very attracted to you.” Bill was 68 years old at the time. Sherri and I were both 26. He was married to his third wife. I felt like scrubbing the time sheet with hand wipes. “What should I do?” Sherri asked me, a worried look on her face.

I didn’t have the answer. For the past month I had been trying to organize the other six women at work to bond together so we could sue Bill for sexual harassment, or at least confront him. Not one of them would agree to help. I tried cajoling them. When that didn’t work I tried getting them as mad as I was, but they all seemed passive.

“How long do you want him to slither his hands across your boob when he’s pretending to hug you?” I asked. They accused me of being too dramatic. I accused them of being in denial.

Day after harassing day, Bill would walk up behind me as I sat at my desk. He would slide his huge meaty hands around my neck until his fingertips touched. It felt like a combination of him wanting to seduce me and strangle me. Each time it happened, I was rendered paralyzed and speechless. One day I’d had it and said, “Don’t touch me!”

That started an ongoing office humiliation that would last for the entire eight years I continued to work there. Bill would sneak up behind me, and he would start to put his hands around my neck but would stop less than an inch away. Then he would make sure that he had an audience and say in a mocking tone, “Oops! No touchy.” All of the brownnosers would give it a hearty laugh and the blood would rush up to my face and ears.

My friends and my feminist mom often demanded an explanation for why I wasn’t taking this man to court. Bill was brilliant; he knew a lot about the law, and he was rich and could afford much better lawyers than I could. I was afraid of being ripped apart on the stand as rape victims often are. I was reluctant to spend all of my meager savings on lawyers and afraid of being fired.

One day I returned from an approved day off. Bill blocked my way to my desk and used his deep, flirty voice, “Ms. Olds” — he always called me that — “please see me in my office immediately. And bring the layouts that are on your desk.” I did as he asked. He shut the door and said, “So, a day off? Are you in love?” I replied, “That’s not something I will discuss.”

He slammed his fist down onto his desk, lurched towards me and demanded, “Why are you so combative? We are a family around here.”

“Bill, I have a family. This is where I work. Let’s talk about the layouts.”

My friend Lorraine gave me an 11″ x 17″ sign that said “What part of NO don’t you understand?” She suggested that I put it on the bulletin board behind my desk. I did. I wanted to believe it would help, but only two co-workers ever mentioned it. Both were female.

Temps often worked the phones at the front desk. There was one large, sassy, redheaded Southern gal named Lucy. She pulled me aside one day, about three years after I had begun working at the firm, and said that I should know that the men doing the same job I was doing were paid more than I was. This was a tricky bit of information. How could I bring it up with Bill without betraying her confidence?

When I had been hired full-time, Bill had assured me that I would receive periodic raises “without even having to ask for them.” This had never occurred. I decided to muscle up some courage and go in for a talk.

“Bill,” I started, “are you pleased with my work?”

“Oh yes,” he said.

“Am I being paid on the same scale as the men?”

“Of course not,” he said.

Did I hear him correctly?

“Ms. Olds, David has a wife and two daughters to support, and mortgage on a house to worry about. It simply would not be fair to pay him the same amount as you.”

I was dumbfounded. Speechless.

The following week I received a raise. Very smarmy way to get a raise, but I was glad to deposit the money.
One day, without my knowledge, Bill took a photo of me. I was leaning over my desk, deep in concentration, working on graphics for a chart. I was wearing an appropriate V-neck top, but at that angle, a hint of cleavage appeared. He passed the snapshot, a zoomed-in view of my breast area, around the office.

Another incident happened while I had to fix chipped type on a chart in a hurry. I knelt down on the floor to quickly restore the chipped ‘H’ on the sign. Bill came through the doorway and said, “Ah, women – just how I like them, on their knees.”

I continued to look for a better job. I went on interviews. My father always warned me never to quit a job until I secured a better one. One November afternoon, Bill called me into his office and told me to close the door. He sat slumped, his brow was furrowed and the sides of his mouth were turned down. “As you know, business has been very slow this year. I am going to cut your salary by half. I’m sorry to give you this news, but I’ve always appreciated your loyalty and I know that you will stand by me during these tough times.” This came as a shock to me and so did my response: “In that case, Bill, I will not be working here any longer.”

It was as if I’d jumped out of a plane with no parachute and was in free fall. But the feeling was glorious and the risk paid off. I went into business for myself, which was terrifying at first. I had a mortgage to pay and monthly bills and feared using up the bit I’d managed to save. But within a month I got a full-time freelancing gig designing college textbooks and that year I made twice as much as I’d made working for Bill. I landed more and more creative jobs, web design and print work, and my writing took off.

It’s been years since I worked in an office. My desk is at home and my loyal dog likes my whistling. I make twice as much money and literally whistle while I work. And there is no longer a six-foot-four goon of a boss grabbing the back of my pants.

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Cockroaches scampered up the bed and scurried across my Greenwich Village apartment floor. I knew I was hallucinating. The empty liter of Bacardi rum glared at me next to barren packets of coke.

I was 26, sitting cross-legged like a child on my queen-sized bed. It was 6:00 a.m. and I hadn’t slept. It was 1988. A frigid March wind blew in from my windows facing Minetta Lane. Every nerve roared for more cocaine.

I watched with terror as a tarantula writhed on top of my dresser. I closed my eyes, hoping it would disappear. Tarantulas don’t live in New York but when I opened my eyes, the hairy black thing was still there.

My lap was littered with confetti-like shreds of eight-by-ten glossies. My painting portfolio. How could I have done that to the only thing I was proud of? I’d painstakingly assembled each page of the spiral book, with photos tucked safely under plastic sleeves in the hopes of finding a better job than waitressing. On one of the ripped pieces, I’d pressed down so hard with a pen that it left indents on the image. Hendrix lyrics: I don’t live today.

My mind scrabbled at the events leading to this last bender. The day before, my roommate Frederic had confronted me in the apartment. His long elegant fingers dug into my upper arms so hard it hurt. An angry vein popped out on his forehead and he shook me like a ragdoll. With tears streaming down his face he said, “If you don’t stop killing yourself, I’m leaving.”

In his eyes I could see the reflection of what I’d become. Disgusting, pathetic. Shame and self-loathing buckled my knees.

Frederic was the only person that mattered. Boyfriends came and went like subway riders. If any got too close, they’d see who I was. Or I’d decide a man’s hands were too hairy or he chewed too loudly. I’d break up with the bewildered fellow and return to my plague of loneliness. Then I’d fixate on a new crush and brood when he barely noticed me.

Happy couples on the street were a mystery. I wanted to run up and say, “How do you do that? What’s wrong with me?”

But Frederic, he was my best friend, like a loyal older brother who’d adopted me.

Our railroad apartment placed his room at the opposite end. Now, as I sat on my bed with jaw clamped in a coked-out grip and eyes bulging, I begged the universe not to let him wake up and see me like this. I’d sworn to stop after he threatened to move out. I had to because life would be unlivable without him. He was the only reason I didn’t jump out a window.

I remembered stopping off at Jimmy Day’s bar on West 4th Street for just one drink. The rest of the night was a blank.

My ashtray overflowed onto the nightstand, reflecting another broken promise to Frederic. Ever since he’d quit, he hated when I smoked. Gone were the days when we’d drink vodka together and play Scrabble for hours, chain smoking and laughing. He’d quit the cigs, cocaine, and vodka.

I emptied the ashtray into my leopard-pattern tin wastebasket. Suddenly, billowing puffs of smoke and high flames shot out of it. I closed my eyes and rubbed them hard. Slowly, I opened them again. Still roaring flames. I got up from the bed and put my palms on the sides of the tin to feel for heat. It was cold. Relieved there was no fire, I was terrified there was no sanity either.

I heard the long-ago voice of my cousin Angela, “You’re so lucky you can handle the drugs, Dor. But if you ever have a problem I’m the one to call.”

I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Ang?”

“Dor?”

After bursting into tears I slurred, “Uncle Carl had the right idea. I’m gonna get a gun and shoot myself.”

“Wait,” Angela said. “Do you have any more alcohol or cocaine?”

I had only the specs of coke that lined the empty packets and a few airplane-size bottles of Absolut stashed in my underwear drawer.

“Finish everything,” Ang said.

That was a first. People never told me to drink more.

“I’ll be there soon,” she said and hung up.

Her brother Brad called.

“Hey Sweetiepie.” It was soothing to hear his voice. “I reserved a bed for you in Florida.”

“Ooh, Florida?” I said, “Is there a pool?”

I heard the front door slam and realized I’d awakened Frederic. My throat went dry but I kept doing what I was told, scraping the last snortable flakes and downing the vodka minis.

Ang arrived at the apartment and yelled “Hey Dor!” After a bear hug she scanned the closet, grabbed a knapsack, and began to pack.

While she yanked t-shirts out of my dresser drawer I moaned with agony, “I’m out of cigarettes.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Everything is fine.”

Being exhausted and stoned made me pliable and obedient.

Angela carried my backpack while I navigated the four flights down to the lobby, gripping the banister to keep from wobbling. When we got to her double-parked car on Macdougal, she helped me into the passenger side and buckled me in. Sure I was going to puke, I unbuckled.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

The thought of eating made me gag. I managed a slurry “no.”

“We have to eat something,” she said. “It’s a long trip to Florida and when did you last eat?”

Before I could answer or stop her, she hopped over to the shake shop across the street and came back with two vanilla shakes. I got down about half of it before I bolted from the front seat and barfed on the pavement. She came around and helped me back into the car.

We headed off to JFK airport. As soon as Ang started to drive, I passed out. I have no memory of the airport or boarding the plane. I came out of the blackout while Ang was checking me into the rehab. There was a pink-skinned lady at a desk with a dopey soccer-mom hairdo who told me to sign paperwork. Then she led me down the hall to a room. Before she closed the door, I asked her to get Angela but the woman said she’d left. My tired bones collapsed on the cot’s thin mattress and I zonked out on the flat pillow till morning.

When I awoke, I tried to piece things together. Only isolated snippets. Frozen snapshots of laughing with a bartender, making out with somebody. I looked around the sparse room and wanted to go home. I got out of the bed and walked to the door but found it locked. There were no lights on. I peeked through the Plexiglas window in the door and could see a woman at a desk. I rapped hard on the window. She smiled and came over to me.

“Where am I?” I said.

“You’re in the detox room at the Hazelden Center in West Palm Beach.”

Her voice sounded like it was coming through a cloud of cotton. I could hardly decipher what she was saying, much less comprehend it.

“What am I doing here?”

She didn’t seem surprised by my question and patiently explained I’d come the day before and my cousin had checked me in, then left, and I’d be staying with them for the next 31 days.

I told her I had to go home and needed to leave right away. I demanded she find my purse. She retrieved it from a locker and handed it to me. I looked for the sliding Bayer aspirin container with my emergency line of coke and mini straw. I couldn’t find it and became frantic. She looked at me kindly and explained they’d searched my purse and disposed of the drugs they found.

Irate, I yelled, “You can’t do that!”

“Yes, dear,” she said, “we do that for all of our patients. You’re here because you’ve agreed to stop taking drugs and you signed the intake permission form.”

I demanded to leave.

“Okay,” she said.

To my horror, I found only two dollars and loose change in my wallet. I was a long way from home with no access to money. Dizzy, I asked the woman if I could lie down again.

“Of course you can, dear. That’s a good idea.”

She helped me back into the creaky cot and I stayed for 31 days.

Written for The Fix

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To My Civil Rights Activist Mom

In the house I grew up, Mom had a framed letter from Coretta Scott King dated Nov. 10, 1966. It was a letter of thanks. “I would like to thank you very much for your interest in and support of my recent Freedom Concert in Chicago,” Mrs. King wrote. “Much of the success of these concerts depends upon persons such as yourself who devote time and energy in their promotion and support.”

Justice in Winnetka

50 Years Later

On Sunday, July 26, the 2015 Justice Project: The March Continues rally was held in the Chicago suburb of Winnetka, Illinois. The event was a 50th anniversary commemoration of the North Shore Summer Project’s (NSSP) 1965 rally that brought 10,000 people together to listen to the stirring words of Martin Luther King Jr.

1965 Fair Housing Rally

That 1965 rally was the largest gathering ever before on the Winnetka Village Green, and the first time Dr. King ever spoke in an all-white suburb. One of the NSSP fair housing activists and rally organizers was my mom, Sally Wendkos Olds.

My Mom was not a political figure. She is a Jewish woman who excelled at writing and raising three kids with my doting Dad. Both parents wanted us to grow up in a just society of equal rights for everyone. Those rights should always include housing rights. In 1965, she worked as the publicity director and contact person for the Winnetka Village Green event. She also wrote a follow-up article for a Chicago church-published magazine called Community.

Racial Discrimination

The N-Word

My parents raised me to never discriminate against anyone based on the color of their skin – nor their religion. Hence, I took little notice of anyone’s skin-color. Sadly, in 1975, when I was in Weber Middle School in Port Washington, Long Island, there were creepy classmates who frequently called me “nigger lover.”  I was shocked. I couldn’t believe that anybody actually still thought that way; that was my introduction to racism.

#BlackLivesMatter should not have to be a hashtag — it should be a given.

It’s a terrible stain on this great nation that racism still runs rampant here. I’d never bash America because I feel lucky to have been born in such a privileged country, but it is painful to hear what goes on outside of my insulated world of diversity and liberals in New York City’s Chelsea neighborhood, where almost anything goes and people of all colors, religions, and sexual preferences are celebrated.

On June 1, The Guardian wrote:

“An analysis of public records, local news reports and Guardian reporting found that 32% of black people killed by police in 2015 were unarmed, as were 25% of Hispanic and Latino people, compared with 15% of white people killed.”

Don’t get me started on the disgraceful Confederate flag issue. It took the murder of nine black churchgoers in Charleston to order South Carolina to take down its offensive Confederate flag — the utmost symbol of racism and slavery.

FAIR HOUSING FIGHTS STILL IN THE NEWS

One month ago, the Supreme Court endorsed a broad interpretation of the Fair Housing Act of 1968. They agreed with a Texas-based nonprofit corporation that the Department of Housing and Community Affairs and its officers had “caused continued segregated housing patterns by allocating too many tax credits to housing in predominantly black inner-city areas and too few in predominantly white suburban neighborhoods.”

The New York Times Wrote

After the Supreme Court’s decision June 25, The New York Times wrote:

“Much progress remains to be made in our nation’s continuing struggle against racial isolation,” Justice Anthony M. Kennedy wrote for the majority in the 5-to-4 ruling. “The court acknowledges the Fair Housing Act’s continuing role in moving the nation toward a more integrated society.”

SEE ALSO: A White Civil Rights Activist Looks Back on Martin Luther King March on Winnetka Village Green

I asked Mom about the past 2015 event in Chicago because I wanted to know how she felt about the tragedy that not enough has changed since the 1960s. She said, “The North Shore Summer Project opened a lot of people’s eyes to the unfairness of restricting communities on the basis of color or religion.”

Hate Mail

Mom said, “Although I received hate mail from some of my neighbors, the NSSP found that most residents in these northern suburbs were very willing to have nonwhite neighbors, and that it was the realtors who made, and acted on, other assumptions.” Concerned, I asked Mom if the hate mail had scared her. “Instead of frightening me, it inspired me to do more, since it let me know that my efforts and those of my fellow activists were being noticed,” she replied.

That’s rather impressive, don’t you think? Way to go, Mom!

When I asked if anything stands out in her mind about this 2015 event she said, “In one way it was dismaying that 50 years later, at this anniversary, we still needed to be reminded about the importance of fair housing, as in the stirring words of Hilary Shelton, the NAACP’s Washington [D.C.] director. He reminded the audience how crucial housing is in determining the schools children go to, the services residents can receive, and the building of personal assets throughout a lifetime. But,” she added, “the speakers acknowledged good news, too, like the Supreme Court’s recent ruling that building affordable housing in areas that perpetuate segregation is illegal, even if intent to do so cannot be shown. Our nation is making progress.”

In 1965, the Winnetka Historical Society wrote, “Dr. King’s appearance in Winnetka came at the end of a day of rallies in the Chicago area. Though hoarse and exhausted from five earlier speeches, Dr. King urged the crowd to ‘go all out to end segregation in housing.’

He asserted that ‘[e]very white person does great injury to his child if he allows that child to grow up in a world that is two-thirds colored and yet live in conditions where that child does not come into person-to-person contact with colored people.’ Dr. King criticized not only the ‘vitriolic words and violent actions of the bad people,’ but also ‘the silence of the good people.’ He observed: ‘We must now learn to live together as brothers, or we will perish together as fools.’”

Amen to that, Dr. King.

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I am featured in this City University of New York (CUNY) textbook for a course on victimology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice. The title of the textbook is ESSENTIALS OF VICTIMOLOGY. This is the 9th book my writing is featured in and it’s my first textbook.

My 2012 New York Times essay Defriending My Rapist remains on this victimology course required reading list. Therefore, every semester, I speak to the students at CUNY’s Victimology classes. This year will be the 10th year that my essay remains on the reading list.

See also: Interview on CNN’s Dr. Drew Show

In Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), there is a saying, “No matter how far down the scale we have gone, our experience can benefit others.” Because of that, I share what my experiences keep teaching me. And that is gobs more productive than regretting my wayward past. Okay, now let’s get to the list of my writings in eight book anthologies.

Olds Book Anthologies

More book anthologies means more excitement. However, I still feel a rush that my writing has made it this far. And, I shall keep going. This week, I sent in a submission to another anthology. Of course, it depends on if my essay gets a yes or a no. Certainly, I’m crossing my fingers and toes and my ever-loyal pooch, Busta Rhymes, is crossing his four paws. Wish me luck.

Featured Author/Artisan: Dorri Olds, Writer, Journalist, Fine Artist

Creative People … and what makes them tick. There are many books about famous creative people throughout history. You can search the internet for information on Michelangelo, Picasso and also modern-day creatives like Elon Musk, J.K. Rowling or Stephen Spielberg. However, in this book anthology, Michelle Monet interviewed Dorri Olds, along with other creatives to find out what makes them tick.

Easy as A, B, C

Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Power of Positive: 101 Inspirational Stories about Changing Your Life through Positive Thinking. Attitude is everything. This is an inspirational and uplifting book with tales about the power of positive thinking. In bad times, and good, readers will be encouraged to keep a positive attitude.

Compassion and a Cannoli

Chicken Soup for the Tea Lover’s Soul: Stories Steeped in Comfort. Is enjoying a cup of tea your favorite part of the day? Is the brewing of a ‘cuppa’ a ritual that centers and calms you? Reconnect with the silent intimacy and introspection experienced while sipping tea.

Skinny Dotty and Her Chocolates

Chicken Soup for the Chocolate Lover’s Soul: Indulging in Our Sweetest Moments. If you can’t live without a daily bite of chocolate, have visions of chocolate truffles dancing in your head, you will savor the decadence of this collection of stories.

Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul by Dorri Olds

Chicken Soup for the Recovering Soul: Your Personal, Portable Support Group with Stories of Healing, Hope, Love and Resilience.

Find inspiration for change and personal growth in each story as people in this dynamic community share their experiences of transformation, of lives reclaimed, of relationships renewed and futures full of promise.

With Help From a Friend

Chicken Soup for the College Soul: Inspiring and Humorous Stories About College

A collection of stories meant to guide, inspire, support and encourage readers throughout their college experiences.

The Charleston Dancer

At Grandmother’s Table: Women Write about Food, Life and the Enduring Bond between Grandmothers and Granddaughters (2001)

What would you give for an afternoon in your grandmother’s kitchen? Leaning over the countertop, you watched as she added the flour, just a little at a time, to the bowl. It seemed like magic.

Oy, Come All Ye Faithful

The Ultimate Christmas: The Best Exp-erts’ Advice for a Memorable Season with Stories and Photos of Holiday Magic (2008). This is an entertaining, touching, and uplifting collection of true stories and awe-inspiring photographs of holiday magic, love, family — and a tad bit of stress. So, here’s to more book anthologies to come. If you’d like to know how I managed to get here, just drop me a line. I want to hear all about your writing career goals, too.

More About Books

My copy-editing, book design, book cover art, photo management, and production for print and ebook versions include:

Healers and Heroes: WWII Combat Medics and Mud and Blood from the Normandy Beaches to The Battle of the Bulge
by Thea Marshall

Good Morning, Tai Chi: The Principles of Tai Chi From the Heart of Brooklyn
by Phil Felice Catapano and Mark L. Fuerst

Frankie and Bobby: Growing Up Zappa
By Charles Robert “Bobby” Zappa

I had the pleasure of working with rock icon Frank Zappa’s younger brother Bobby Zappa on this coming of age memoir, Frankie and Bobby: Growing Up Zappa. The book is full of rich stories that will stay with me always. It would be fun to go back and tell my teenage self that in 2015 I would have this wonderful opportunity to write about one of my favorite musicians.

The post More Book Anthologies: Essays And Short Stories By Dorri Olds appeared first on Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer.

Krispy Kreme doughnuts flooded my garden with the overwhelming smell of sugar and grease. So, I took it to The New York Times. Writer Anthony Ramirez did the accurate write-up. Thank you, Anthony!

***

Trivial Seque: I have two older sisters who were born early. I was three weeks late so my parents assumed I was a boy. The name they’d picked out was Anthony. Mom told me, “We were going to call you Tony.” When I popped out as a girl, I was named after my father’s mother. In Hebrew, my name means “a gift”

***

Okay, back to the saga of Krispy Kreme doughnuts or donuts, depending on how you like to spell them, brought unnecessary trouble.

Dorri Olds was interviewed by The New York Times. Olds was also featured on NY1-TV.

Neighborhood Report: Chelsea

by Anthony Ramirez

To their fans, Krispy Kreme doughnuts are to ordinary doughnuts what the Garden of Eden is to apple orchards. When the neon ”Hot Now” sign lights up, signaling that a fresh batch is emerging from the doughnut machine, passers-by crowd in and cars double-park out front.

Chelsea Gardens vs. Krispy Kreme

But to the residents of Chelsea Gardens, the apartment complex next door to the doughnut shop at 265 West 23d Street, living cheek by jowl to Krispy Kreme is anything but paradise. The constant whirring and clacking of Krispy Kreme’s air-conditioning and heating equipment disturbs sleep, residents say, because the shop bakes 24 hours a day.

Despite an exhaust vent that turns east, away from Chelsea Gardens, a strong westerly wind blows doughnut fumes toward the apartment complex.

Dorri Olds Challenges the Donut Makers

The doughnuts aren’t so great, either, claims one Chelsea Gardens resident. Dorri Olds, a graphic designer who works at home, has an apartment overlooking Krispy Kreme. “It’s the smell of oil, grease and sugar,” she said. ”I took a bite out of a Krispy Kreme and spit it out, it was so horrible, like a sponge dipped in grease.”

In the spring and summer, Olds said, the community garden is especially hard hit. ”Our tulips! Our chrysanthemums! Our crocuses!” she exclaimed. ”They smell of doughnuts!”

Edward C. Dew, 41, an architect whose apartment also faces Krispy Kreme, likes the doughnuts but is still disturbed. ”I loved them as a kid because I grew up in the South,” Mr. Dew said of Krispy Kreme, a franchised chain that is based in Winston-Salem, N.C. ”But this store is just driving me crazy.” He said he and other neighbors have been lobbying Krispy Kreme for changes since last July. He said he sold his co-op apartment to a neighbor because of the odor and noise and will move soon.

New York City vs Krispy Kreme

The City Department of Environmental Protection has fined Krispy Kreme more than $1,000 for violations involving noise and odors. Howard Lev, a co-owner of the Krispy Kreme store, said he was trying to make adjustments. ”We’re not ignoring it,” he said. ”But it’s my fault that I don’t call the people at Chelsea Gardens every week to tell them what I’m doing.”

Mr. Lev said that when the weather warms, he plans to put more acoustic barriers around the rooftop equipment. He also said that he plans to ask Chelsea Gardens’ management for permission to route the shop’s exhaust along the wall of one of the apartment buildings so the odor is discharged on the roof.

***

Added by Dorri Olds: We chased ’em out. It was replaced by a Boston Market chicken chain that uses way too much salt. Thankfully, though, our garden was never attacked by a rancid waft from that franchise.

See also: Chelsea Gay Bashing

Editors’ Picks

How to Celebrate the Spring Holidays Safely With Your FamilyTake a Journey Through 125 Years of Book Review HistoryIn the Shadow of Nollywood, Filmmakers Examine Boko HaramContinue reading the main storyhttps://tpc.googlesyndication.com/safeframe/1-0-38/html/container.html

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”That’s Howard,” Ms. Olds said. ”He keeps saying he will, but he doesn’t.”

City officials and the owners of Krispy Kreme are scheduled to speak with neighborhood residents on March 18 at a meeting with a committee of Community Board 4.

Meanwhile, Mr. Lev said that in addition to the Chelsea store, and one he has in Harlem, he plans to open stores in midtown, Greenwich Village and the Upper West Side. ANTHONY RAMIREZ

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This is the most important election of our lifetime. #VoteBlue We are fighting for the soul of our divided nation. #VoteHarrisBiden

3 KEY STEPS for BLM Allyship

Learn how to use your voice and stand with Black Americans. We must put an end to this grisly systemic racism in America. It’s time for CHANGE! If not you, who? If not now, when? Petrow-Cohen’s guide gives suggestions on how to engage in the fight for #BLM and Anti-Racism. You too can be a well-informed and active ally.

EDUCATIONAL RESOURCES

Anti-racism Resources

This document is intended to serve as an educational resource for white people and parents to deepen our anti-racism work. It includes lists of articles, videos, podcasts, books, films and TV series, and organizations to follow on social media. If you haven’t engaged in anti-racism work in the past, this is a great way to get started.

Things White People Can Do for Racial Justice

Here are actions that white allies can take to promote racial justice and anti- racism, as well as fight against police brutality. These actions include educating yourself and others on the experience of Black Americans, understanding the systemic racism present in the institutions you interact with (e.g., schools, offices, local communities), and utilizing white privilege to engage with local and federal governments to demand change.

Rachel Rickett’s Anti-Racism Resources:

This resource includes links to articles and books on several critical topics regarding race, namely: Addressing Whiteness, Racism, Spirituality, and Wellness, Healing for Women of Color, Multi-Racial Identities, Health and Pandemics, as well as workshops and additional educational resources on race in America.

Understanding and Dismantling Racism: A Booklist for White Readers

This booklist compiled by Charis Books, an independent feminist bookstore, aims at addressing a broad variety of white readers’ needs and interests. It includes books that address race in the contemporary moment, and first person accounts of how individual people came to understand themselves as white and to desire an end to white supremacy. You can purchase each of these books directly at the link and support an independent bookstore in the process!

A Reading List for Children

A friend of mine is a teacher in the Nashville public school system and pulled together this list of culturally responsive and relevant books for children. Many of the books address racism and race explicitly. Others feature black protagonists and focus on changing the skewed representation in the media.

TAKE ACTION NOW!

Justice for George Floyd

• Demand reinstitution by the Department of Justice of consent decrees on police departments and municipal governments across this country that have demonstrated patterns of racism towards and mistreatment of people of color.
• Demand sweeping police reform–federal legislation mandating a zero-tolerance approach in prosecuting police officers who kill unarmed, non-violent, and non-resisting individuals in an arrest.
• Defund the Police means we need to put an end to systemic racism and the culture of corruption in our police forces. It calls for a national defunding of the police and an investment in communities and resources to ensure that Black people can survive and thrive in America.
• Sign more petitions in support of anti-racism and ending police brutality that Black Lives Matter has compiled and updates regularly.
• Send a message to your congressional representative supporting NAACP policy demands. The NAACP has created an extremely simple way to write to congressional representatives in your district expressing support for the NAACP anti-racism policy demands. The NAACP demands criminal justice reform, economic policies, health policies, and voting policies and provides a template message to send to your representatives demonstrating your support.
• With the template it takes under a minute to directly and effectively engage in your state and local politics to promote anti-racism.
• Write and call state leaders to demand justice for black lives lost to police brutality. See below for the relevant contact info and links to template messages. George Floyd Contact Info:
• Hennepin County Attorney, Michael O. Freeman
  •  EMAIL citizeninfo@hennepin.us
  • TEL (612) 348-5550
• Minneapolis Police Department
  • EMAIL 1 police@minneapolismn.gov
  • EMAIL 2 minneapolis311@minneapolismn.gov
  • EMAIL 3 policereview@minneapolismn.gov
  • TEL (612) 673-2345

Justice for Breonna Taylor

Louisville Metro PD: louisville-police.org/142/Contact (502) 574-711
Louisville Mayor Office: (502) 574-2003
Breonna Taylor organized efforts standwithbre.com / justiceforbreonna.org
Louisville Mayor’s Staff Tony McDade Contact Info:

• Tallahassee Police dept: ContactUs@talgov.com, Phone: 850.891.0000
• Tallahassee Mayor John Dailey: mayor@talgov.com
• Commissioner Jeremy Matlow: https://talgov.com/Main/email.aspx?emailto=jeremy.matlow…
• Officer on Tony’s case, Officer Kevin Bradshaw, email: https://talgov.com/Main/email.aspx?emailto=Kevin.Bradshaw
  TEL (850) 556-1726
• Social media coordinator Rachelle Denmark: email: https://talgov.com/Main/email.aspx?emailto=Rachelle.Denmark, TEL (850) 891-4255

Join a protest

There are protests happening across the country in support of the Black Lives Matter movement, Anti-Racism, and Criminal Justice Reform.

Have a conversation

One of the most powerful ways that we can be allies right now is by listening. Reach out to your black friends, neighbors, and colleagues during this traumatic time. Don’t make the conversation about you. Rather, work to create a space for them to share their experience with race and racism. We white Americans often shy away from these difficult conversations and in doing so silence black voices and stories. Let’s work to change that both on the national stage and in our personal relationships. Keeping an open dialogue is critical to maintaining momentum in the fight against racism.

Donate

Several organizations are fighting against racism and police brutality at one time. You can select an amount to donate and allocate the funds across the organizations listed below. This is great way to support multiple facets of the anti-racism movement at once, especially if you are feeling overwhelmed by the number of options. See a brief description donate directly to each organization included below:

Black Lives Matter Global Network

“#BlackLivesMatter was founded in 2013 in response to the acquittal of Trayvon Martin’s murderer. Black Lives Matter is a global organization in the US, UK, and Canada, whose mission is to eradicate white supremacy and build local power to intervene in violence inflicted on Black communities by the state and vigilantes. By combating and countering acts of violence, creating space for Black imagination and innovation, and centering Black joy, we are winning immediate improvements in our lives.”

Reclaim the Block

“Reclaim the Block began in 2018 and organizes Minneapolis community and city council members to move money from the police department into other areas of the city’s budget that truly promote community health and safety. We believe health, safety and resiliency can exist without police of any kind. We organize around policies that strengthen community-led safety initiatives and reduce reliance on police departments.”

National Bail Fund

“National Bail Fund Network is made up of over sixty community bail and bond funds across the country and is working to coordinate bail efforts for protestors.” To donate to local bail funds and support protestors in your state / community or those states / communities in particular need directly, see the comprehensive list of local bail funds here.

Black Visions Collective

“Since 2017, Black Visions Collective, has been putting into practice the lessons learned from organizations before us in order to shape a political home for Black people across Minnesota. We aim to center our work in healing and transformative justice principles, intentionally develop our organizations core “DNA” to ensure sustainability, and develop Minnesota’s emerging Black leadership to lead powerful campaigns. By building movements from the ground up with an integrated model, we are creating the conditions for long term success and transformation.”

NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund

“The NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund is America’s premier legal organization fighting for racial justice. Through litigation, advocacy, and public education, LDF seeks structural changes to expand

democracy, eliminate disparities, and achieve racial justice in a society that fulfills the promise of equality for all Americans. LDF also defends the gains and protections won over the past 75 years of civil rights struggle and works to improve the quality and diversity of judicial and executive appointments.”

The National Police Accountability Project

“National Police Accountability Project (NPAP) is a 501(c)(3) organization and a project of the National Lawyers Guild, which was founded in 1937 as the first racially integrated national bar association. In 1999, NPAP was created as a non-profit to protect the human and civil rights of individuals in their encounters with law enforcement and detention facility personnel. The central mission of NPAP is to promote the accountability of law enforcement officers and their employers for violations of the Constitution and the laws of the United States.”

Color of Change Education Fund

“Color of Change is the nation’s largest online racial justice organization helping people respond effectively to injustice in the world around us. Color of Change leads campaigns that build real power for Black communities. We challenge injustice, hold corporate and political leaders accountable, commission game-changing research on systems of inequality, and advance solutions for racial justice that can transform our world.”

Unicorn Riot

“Over the past five years, Unicorn Riot has built a worker-managed non-profit media organization. We have worked tirelessly to build a platform that focuses on primary source reporting and on-the-ground coverage. Our reporters go where the story is unfolding to bring you the voices of real people alongside crucial context and facts.”

Campaign Zero

“Funds donated to Campaign Zero support the analysis of policing practices across the country, research to identify effective solutions to end police violence, technical assistance to organizers leading police accountability campaigns and the development of model legislation and advocacy to end police violence nationwide.”

Advancement Project

“Advancement Project is a next generation, multi-racial civil rights organization. Rooted in the great human rights struggles for equality and justice, we exist to fulfill America’s promise of a caring, inclusive and just democracy. We use innovative tools and strategies to strengthen social movements and achieve high impact policy change.”

The Marshall Project

“The Marshall Project is a nonpartisan, nonprofit news organization that seeks to create and sustain a sense of national urgency about the U.S. criminal justice system. We achieve this through award-winning journalism, partnerships with other news outlets, and public forums. In all of our work, we strive to educate and enlarge the audience of people who care about the state of criminal justice.”

We must end police violence in America.

The post Guide for White People: How to Fight for Racial Justice appeared first on Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer.

World War II Army Captain, David Mark Olds (1920–2009), was my father. He told me that he could never erase from his mind what he and his driver, Shady had seen in Dachau. WWII had just ended and the Dachau prisoners had been freed.

Here is the chilling description in my father’s words:

Dad Describes Dachau

We came to the town of Dachau first, a pretty little farming village, green grass, a church spire, neat little houses—a German Currier and Ives. From the village you could see the smokestacks of the ovens, just a few miles away. As we drove to the camp, up to the tall, barbed wire-topped fence, a peculiar smell filled the air, like food gone bad, mixed with body odor and smoke.

The Dachau Gates Were Open

A few MP vehicles and tanks were parked near the gates. Shady parked alongside. The gates were wide open, and we just walked into the concentration camp. It was a madhouse. Pitiful stick figures in striped pajamas, obviously the camp uniform, were milling about, limping and shuffling around, apparently unable to grasp that they were really liberated. A team of American MP’s were trying to restore some order, setting up a mess line, and a delousing tent. It was heartbreaking to look at the ex-prisoners.

WWII Prisoners Freed

All were emaciated, unshaven. Up close, they smelled nauseatingly of sickness and dirt and decay. But the worst was their eyes—hollow, staring dark circles in their pasty faces. As we walked in, we saw a commotion going on in one corner of the large open area. A bunch of the stick figures had surrounded a guard, who hadn’t left with the retreating German soldiers. He was an older man, in his fifties I judged, in a gray uniform. The Nazis had run out of younger, able-bodied men, and had scraped the bottom of the barrel to find any camp guards.

Prisoners Beat Up Nazi Guards

The inmates were screaming, faces contorted in rage, their open mouths displaying ragged, discolored stumps of teeth. They were holding pieces of wood they had picked up, iron bars, stones, whatever came to hand, as they closed in on the guard, who was on his knees, terror in his face, pleading for his life.

See Also: My WWII Army Captain Dad, Donald Trump, and Veteran’s Day

The crowd began to beat him, their terrible anger lending strength to their pipestem arms. The MP’s stood by, watching, making no effort to intervene, as he was beaten to death. Then the crazed stick figures darted away, shouting, shaking their fists, looking for more of the hated guards. Shady and I walked across the forbidding, graveled square to the crematoriums. The brick ovens were cold, their doors open, the chimneys looming over them.

Bones and Ashes

It was obvious that the camp authorities had tried to rake out all the bones and ashes, but enough remained as mute witness. The ovens gave off the sickly sweet, dreadful smell of burned human flesh. Around the corner, behind a shed, we saw a pile of corpses, twenty-five or thirty, in the striped ticking uniforms, pitifully thin, like skeletons, most with mouths open in ghastly rictus, stacked up one on top of the other. The cliché came to life for me: they really did resemble piles of cordwood, ready for the fireplace. Shady turned away and threw up. I was close to it myself.

Liberation

A terrible rage shook me. I wanted to find a German, any German, and kill him. Shady and I stood there, pulling ourselves together, then we walked back to the jeep. We took out all the cigarettes and candy and food we had, and came back in, distributing them to all to the outstretched hands that encircled us. Many of the liberated prisoners were crying, sobbing, holding each other, staggering about. Others, overcome by their liberation, and their hunger and fatigue, sat or lay on the ground, staring, mumbling, trying to comprehend it all.

I wanted to stay, I wanted to go, I wanted to drive back to that pretty little town and ask the people how in God’s name they could have lived their lives next door to that horror, and remained sane. There was no way they couldn’t have known what was going on those few kilometers away. I wanted to destroy the town, and all its stone-faced, stone-hearted inhabitants. But there was nothing we could do. We drove off.

The post WWII Army Captain Describes Horrors at Dachau appeared first on Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer.

Enclave Reading series on Saturday night was standing room only. Held at Alan Cumming’s Club Cumming in Manhattan’s East Village, the joint was full of hot bodies and talent. As I looked around, it gave me a feeling “down there.” Okay, so I just shamelessly lifted that phrase from Joan Jett, which fits the Enclave’s theme—FRAYED IN NEW YORK—with a focus on the 70s, 80s and 90s. It’s a time I remember oh so well.

The Enclave Opener

“I was so fucking depressed last night,” emcee Brooks said, referring to another hell week with the GOP’s spoiled toddler. Not The Orange Swamp Thing, the other entitled white baby in a suit, Brett Kavanaugh, the sobbing, blubbering, self-pitying Supreme Court nominee.

Brooks got huge laughs with a funny bit about the Unabomber, and talked about the night before the Enclave reading.

“Friday night…I decided to drown my tears and indulge myself in a twink…the magic of an iPhone app is this guy shows up, 22, cute as fuck, and, you know, huge. He had a reckless quality which I find attractive in a twink.”

Unfortunately, the young hottie ruined the action in the middle of it by calling out, Daddy!

“Being called Daddy during sex,” said Brooks, “is the gay equivalent of finding a fly in your soup at a fancy restaurant. You go from, this is gonna be good, right? — to what the fuck?”

I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my seltzer.

Frayed in New York

Jeremiah Moss, the man behind the award-winning blog and book, VANISHING NEW YORK read about what’s gone. It was apt for me. As I’d ambled past Tompkins Square Park on the way to the club, the recurring stab of sadness got me in the gut. My native Manhattan looks nothing like it did and often feels like an empty town filled with ghosts

In the 80s, whenever I was hit with an emergency need for drugs at 3am, it was that park that beckoned, luring me toward Alphabet City. It was a suicide mission back then. Being an ex-junkie, though, it’s not surprising that my wasted ideas always made perfect sense. The coils of my head kick off a Pavlov’s dog-inspired rush of endorphins that leaves me drooling at memories from years of debauchery.

Moss at the Mic

Moss at the mic lamented his arrival to what he refers to as the end of New York City: 1993. He was 22 then. Moss read, “I was Harold and New York, my Maude.” He openly admits his bias and lack of objectivity in his signature prose. Self-deprecating words inspired laughs from the audience but the biggest howl came when he quoted reviewers: “The New York Times called me a curmudgeon with a penchant for apocalyptic bombast” and “The Daily News dubbed me a fetishist for filth.”

Lara IS Sharp

DO THE HUSTLE is Lara B. Sharp’s memoir-in progress. It’s about being raised in New York City’s foster care system and her exploits as a crustie and grifter. She chose a chapter that is set in 1984 and appropriately titled Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves. “A crustie,” Sharp explained, “is a homeless runaway, living on the streets of downtown Manhattan.”

Sharp as a Whipped Crustie

The author opens by telling the audience a little background info.

“I was 14 years old and I ran away from foster care. I’m just kind of living in Washington Square Park because that was a done thing then…My mom was an alcoholic and a drug addict…but [she was] awesome because she taught me everything I needed to know. She taught me how to lie, cheat, and steal.”

In addition to writing, Sharp has performed in a number of theater productions, including Penny Arcade’s original production of the Sex and Censorship Show, BITCH! DYKE! FAGHAG! WHORE! Sharp’s author reading was a performance piece because she’s charismatic and naturally theatrical.

She nailed the accents for the scene’s two characters. One voice is Sharp at age 14. The other is “Gay Cher.” He is her new kinda-sorta mentor who tells the young Sharp that he can easily make her look 18 if she steals beauty products from Duane Reade. The motivation behind wanting to look older, was practical. She wanted to find a job.

Sharp reads in Gay Cher’s midwestern accent: “I’m the most beautiful, half-Mexican faggot boy ever to escape Kansas. I looked like a fat old milk cow, but not no more. And, honey, I can fix you up. I mean, you’re a mess. But, I have talents. No offense but your white eyelashes are disgusting.”

Huge laughs from the crowd.

Then, narrating in her younger self’s voice: “He scratches his left arm making the needle sores bleed. He rubs the blood into his stone wash cut-offs…. He yanks my scrunchie and runs his dirty fingernails through my long blonde hair, pulling at the matted sections.”

I quit drinking, drugging and smoking, but I can’t get enough of Sharp’s writing. Saturday night’s performance proved that I’m addicted to her prose.

Barb Morrison

I chatted with Barb Morrison. Yes, THE Barb Morrison—recording artist, hit songwriter, platinum and gold records producer. Morrison has played with Blondie, The Runaways, Johnny Thunders and plenty more biggies. Morrison’s pronoun is they. They told me they grew up in the East Village and Chelsea after arriving here at 17. They came to the city after a childhood in Albany.

“Did you runaway?” I asked (spontaneously) because I had. At 15, I moved into the Hotel Earle on Waverly (now, Washington Square Hotel). It was only one block from the park I’d fallen in love with. I found it romantic that Joan Baez sang about Bob Dylan smiling out of the window of that crummy hotel over Washington Square.

“Yeah, I ran away many times,” Morrison said. They laughed. “I disappeared into the city. You’ll hear all about it when I read.”

Reading from a memoir-in-progress, Morrison talked about being a squatter and a musician on her way up and joining a band called The Loveless. “I tried out a few bands but none of them fit the way this gang of misfit rebels fit me…. I wanted to get in bar brawls with my guys and wake up the next morning not knowing which bruise was for what reason.”

The band had their first show at the underground Lismar Lounge. “You had to enter through one of those gates in the sidewalk that went down into a basement. Most of the bands on the Lower East Side couldn’t play worth shit and we actually had some good songs, so we instantly gained a following the night of our first gig. I remember pushing our amps up First Avenue after that show. Someone rode past in a cab and yelled “LUHHHHHVVVV LESSSSSSSSSS!” at us. We were too broke to take a cab but we felt like the most famous rockstars on the planet that night.”

Christopher Stoddard

Author Christopher Stoddard read from his new book (AT NIGHT ONLY). His words were about the universal feeling of yearning for an ex to come back and convincing yourself that just by wanting it, you can make it so. Max, his dog, is also an important character in the chapter.

“I’m wondering what he’s doing right now….He didn’t text from Montreal to let me know he landed safely—like he did when we were still in a relationship.” Then he describes pulling out his iPhone to contact his ex. The foreshadowing makes it clear that is always a bad, bad, bad idea. Stoddard’s voice is easy to listen to and, yes, his was one of the hot bodies I had referred to in my second sentence of this recap.

Pedro J. Rosado, Jr., actor, dancer and stage manager. He stage-managed Penny Arcade’s BITCH! DYKE! FAGHAG! WHORE! at Performance Space New York. He can be seen in Joan Moossy’s MISS MOOSSY’S NEIGHBORHOOD MYSTERIES on YouTube singing “It’s Important to be Friendly.”

Despite a packed room, Alissa Brianna, the solo bartender for the evening, breezed through the night and looked calm and poised amidst the madness. She banged out those drinks—which I was told were fantastique!

Also in Attendance:

Elizabeth Wurtzel, celebrated author of  PROZAC NATION and BITCH: IN PRAISE OF DIFFICULT WOMEN
(the lyrics are awesome!)
He may be a middle-aged white heterosexual man/But he’s friendly/He’s not an ageist, sexist, racist, homophobic pig/He’s friendly.
Be like him/ Be friendly.

Lauren Pine, downtown debutante and horse lover, as in horse trainer and horseback rider, not to be confused with old slang for heroin. Glad we cleared that up. Pine, Morrison and Sharp are alumnae of the Don Hill’s Thursday night Squeezebox Parties and have known each other for 30 years.

Melody Jane, danced in Penny Arcade‘s 2018 BITCH! DYKE! FAGHAG! WHORE! at Performance Space New York

Elizabeth Collins, writer and comedian (RAISED BY GAYS AND TURNED OUT OK!)

Clayre Saxon Morrison, British fashion stylist and photographer

Steve Zehentner, stage designer and sound designer who has collaborated with theater artist, writer and performer Penny Arcade for 30 years. One of their collaborations was the Lower East Side Biography Project. If you’ve never experienced it, I recommend clicking on that link.

Gavin Van Vlack, guitar, bass and vocals and member of the bands Canonized and Burn

Liza Béar, artist, photographer, writer, filmmaker

Albie Mitchell, well-known downtown photographer who documented the East Village for over 40 years, and worked for the Village Voice and for the original production of Penny Arcade’s BITCH! DYKE! FAGHAG! WHORE! at PS122 and the Village Gate.

Jenny Gorman, practicing fine art and photography in New York City and the Hamptons for over 25 years.

Cid Scantlebury artist and musician. Cid was an original Bitch from the Don Hill’s ‘ladies metal’ night of that name, a Loser’s Lounge singer, and she sings at F*Bomb NYC shows several times a year.

Sean Harris, artist, whose works in paper collage and mixed media can be viewed on Instagram @seansheengram.

AUTHOR BIOS

JEREMIAH MOSS, creator of the award-winning blog Vanishing New York, is the pen name of Griffin Hansbury. His writing on the city has appeared in the New York Times, the New York Daily News, and online for The New Yorker and The Paris Review. As Hansbury, he is the author of THE NOSTALGIST a novel, and works as a psychoanalyst in private practice in New York City

LARA B. SHARP‘s writing has appeared in various print and online publications, including Longreads and Teen Vogue. A native New Yorker, she has also written for and performed in a number of national and international theatre productions and live storytelling events in New York City, London, and Philadelphia. She was an original member of Penny Arcade’s BITCH! DYKE! FAGHAG! WHORE! in the early 90s and toured with Penny Arcade. Sharp earned her BA from Smith College, where she was an Ada Comstock fellow, and is working on a memoir about her childhood in the New York foster care system.

BARB MORRISON is a musician and producer who uses music as a platform of advocacy for the transgender community. A regular performer at The Ritz and CBGB’s, they were the saxophonist, guitarist and singer for the bands Gutterboy and Itchy Trigger Finger, which were signed to Mecury Records and toured with Lollapalooza in 1999. Barb has co-written and produced songs for artists such as Blondie, Rufus Wainwright, LP, and Franz Ferdinand. They also wrote the scores for films, including The Safety of Objects (2000), which starred Glenn Close. Their writing has appeared in various publications, such as the New York Times and The Good Men Project. Currently, they are at work on their memoir.

CHRISTOPHER STODDARD’s new novel At Night Only from Itna Press released this June, which has been praised by The Paris Review, Kirkus, Slate, Lambda Literary, and authors Edmund White and Gary Indiana. Featured in OUT Magazine’s “Tastemakers” issue in 2015 for his contributions to literature and publishing, he’s written two other novels: Limiters (Itna Press, 2014), and White, Christian (Spuyten Duyvil, 2010). He lives in Brooklyn, New York.

—

To learn more about The Enclave Reading Series, visit theenclavereadingseries.tumblr.com or follow on Facebook and Instagram.

For more info on events at Club Cumming, visit clubcummingnyc.com or follow on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

—

Dorri Olds is an award-winning freelance writer whose work has appeared in book anthologies, and publications including The New York Times, Marie Claire, Woman’s Day, Time Out New York, The Fix, The Forward, Yahoo, and Tablet. Visit her YouTube channel and see other works she’s done for Honeysuckle here.

The post Enclave Reading Series ‘FRAYED IN NEW YORK’ at Actor Alan Cumming’s Club Cumming appeared first on Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer.

Written for Honeysuckle Magazine

The global human rights organization Breakthrough works to “change the attitudes and assumptions around gender that lead to violence and discrimination.” This year is their 4th annual Dudes Against Violence Against Women Because DUH. Featuring comedians from beloved shows including 30 Rock and The Daily Show, the evening of laughs was initially spearheaded by SiriusXM’s Dean Obeidallah (read below for more on the history of his involvement), and will be a night to remember. All tickets sold will benefit Breakthrough’s efforts to shift cultural norms to end gender-based violence. Lynn Harris, author and former VP of Breakthrough, came up with the brilliant title.

The show happens Wednesday, July 18, 2018 at the Gotham Comedy Club at 7:30 PM; doors open at 6:30.

THE DUDES

Judah Friedlander (30 Rock)

Roy Wood, Jr. (The Daily Show with Trevor Noah, Comedy Central’s This Is Not Happening)

Dean Obeidallah** (Host of SiriusXM radio’s The Dean Obeidallah Show)

Josh Gondelman (writer, Last Week Tonight With John Oliver)

Jordan Carlos (The Colbert Report, The Nightly Show with Larry Wilmore)

Rob Paravonian (Comedy Central, Dr. Demento, Tough Crowd with Colin Quinn)

Eddie Sarfaty (Comedy Central’s Premium Blend, Logo’s Wisecrack)

with special guest and emcee

Negin Farsad (NPR, HBO, Fake the Nation)

More About Breakthrough

Manager of Business and Development Operations at Breakthrough, Jason Fluegge, told Honeysucklethat this is not just any human rights organization. Fluegge said, “In the U.S., there’s this idea that human rights are about oppression in faraway lands. But we’ve got ’em right here, too.”

Breakthrough uses pop culture to make human rights real, relevant, urgent, and actionable.

“We believe,” said Fluegge, “that we can change our culture.” The emphasis, he underscores, is on promoting human rights values—dignity, equality, and respect—you know, how we all should treat each other. “We’ve made online games about immigration and racial justice, and videos about gender norms with puppeteers from Avenue Q, so it makes total sense that we’d do comedy intended to challenge gender-based violence.”

It was Dean Obeidallah who approached Breakthrough several years ago and came up with the idea of doing a comedy show to support the organization’s work. Fluegge recalled, “We decided on a comedy fundraiser that made a statement. It wasn’t only about making money; it was about taking a stand. Of course violence against women has long been an issue, but the show feels particularly relevant and urgent this year. Wow, do we need a laugh.”

Fluegge credited the #MeToo movement for shining a light on what women have endured—and are no longer willing to endure. “There is a need for men to act, not just by questioning their own past actions but to stand up with women and fix this problem in our institutions and our culture.”  

In March of 2013, with the launch of Breakthrough’s Ring the Bell: One Million Men, One Million Promises campaign, Breakthrough asked men worldwide to step up and make violence against women their issue. Dean Obeidallah did just that, pledging to devote his skills—comedy and advocacy—toward helping launch the first Dudes Against Violence Against Women in 2014.

Today Breakthrough is asking you to step up and let the world know that gender-based violence isn’t just a women’s issue, but that it is everyone’s issue. Even if you can’t attend the show (though we hope you do!), you can still take part in #Dudes18. Sign up below and for more information on how you can get involved. The time to act is now.

DUDES AGAINST VIOLENCE AGAINST WOMEN BECAUSE DUH

WEDNESDAY, JULY 18TH, 2018 AT 7:30 PM

Gotham Comedy Club
280 West 23rd Street
(7th & 8th Aves)
New York City

Watch comedian Rob Paravonian explain why this show matters:

For more information on Breakthrough and #Dudes18, visit us.breakthrough.tv or follow them on Facebook and Twitter (@BreakthroughUS) or Instagram (@breakthroughtv).

The post Dudes Against Violence Against Women Because DUH – Male Comics Stand Up for Women appeared first on Award-Winning Writer and Graphic Designer.

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“I can think of no other artist who has given more to her country,” said Moore. “What an honor for our festival audience to welcome and to be inspired by the work of this American Icon. Her voice is as needed today as much as ever.”

Moore will personally host the legendary actress, author, and activist at the Traverse City Film Festival, one of the most popular cultural events in the Midwest. The 2018 program is expected to bring in 100,000 attendees with this year’s roster of nearly 100 movies.
Fonda’s massive body of work includes Coming Home (Academy Award, Best Actress, 1978), Klute (Academy Award, Best Actress, 1971), They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?, Julia, The China Syndrome, On Golden Pond, and The Morning After (films for which she received five additional Oscar nominations). Fonda’s filmography includes more than 40 other films.
Fonda is also the subject of the revealing new HBO documentary Jane Fonda in Five Acts directed by Susan Lacy, which will screen at the festival. Fonda and Lacy will be watching the doc, too. Since 2015, Fonda has starred in Netflix sitcom Grace and Frankie. I chatted with the two mega-stars on the red carpet in New York City during the 2016 Tribeca Film Festival.
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Fonda is also the subject of the revealing new HBO documentary Jane Fonda in Five Acts directed by Susan Lacy, which will screen at the festival, with Fonda and Lacy in attendance.
The festival will also present a 40th anniversary screening of “Coming Home,” a screening of “Julia”, and a free nighttime screening of “Nine to Five” projected on a 65-foot screen at the festival’s open space on the shores of Lake Michigan.
Fonda’s lifetime commitment to social change has also inspired a generation of artists and activists. She chairs the Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention, sits on the boards of Women’s Day Media Center, which she helped found, and V-Day: Until the Violence Stops. She established the Jane Fonda Center for Adolescent Reproductive Health at the Emory School of Medicine and has long been a leading advocate for environmental issues, human rights, and the empowerment of women and girls.

See Also: Jane Fonda’s List of Awards

See Also: Michael Moore’s List of Awards

Details of Fonda’s appearance along with the 14th annual Festival’s complete schedule of films and events will be announced on Friday, June 29 online at tcff.org.
Tickets for this year’s edition will go on sale to the public on Saturday, July 21 at tcff.org, but Friends of the Film Festival will be able to get early access to tickets with advance sales starting Sunday, July 15. To become a Friend, sign up online, call 231-392-1134, or email friends@tcff.org.

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