Brookyland

I finally have 37 things to do for the 37 weeks before I leave for Africa. Check them out here. Thanks to all the people that made amazing suggestions. A lot of them made it into my list.

I've already checked a few things off the list. The first was the Brooklyn Flea Market. There was something in the air. Everyone suddenly and independently decided they wanted to go to the Brooklyn Flea. And by everyone I mean les copains that jaunted off to Williamsburg for the day on Saturday.

Williamsburg is striking and disarming the moment you step off the train. Here are some of the things we saw right off the bat:

The Brooklyn Flea is less of a market and more of a strange world inhabited by fanciful creatures:

It's also a massive coagulation of old stuff. One person's trash is another's treasure:

We smelled some fantastic, old, leather jackets. We rifled through vinyl records, old maps, and grade-school flashcards.

I bought 30 family photos from the 40s of unknown, ordinary people. Pictures taken on family outings, graduation days, pictures of nurses and soldiers, people in canoes and on grassy lawns. An assemblage of histories lost to time except for a handful of mysterious snapshots. I impose upon these pictures stories of my own, and the characters in my stories may as well be the real people in the pictures. 

The guy selling the pictures said he acquired them dirt cheap at auctions, yard sales, and estate sales. I feel a little wrong co-opting these individuals' histories into my own life. I'm currently arranging the photos into a collage on my bedroom wall - I'll post something about that when I'm done.

A few blocks from the flea market is Pies 'n Thighs, which comes highly recommended:

I'm a poor foodie-photographer. I always forget to take the picture until I've taken a bite out of the food. Gross.

Overwhelmed at the fact that we had the entire world available to us in our wanderings, we explored a funny little store across the street that had some weird pillows:

In a wonderful lapse of judgment, we decided to walk three miles to Ample Hills. It was the Sabbath, so the very Hasidic neighborhood was extremely quiet and still. There is a huge disjuncture between the two preeminent cultures of Williamsburg: Orthodox Jews and young, white hipsters. I've never seen so many sidelocks. Or so many Buddy Hollies.

I'm not too proud to wear a woman's scarf. It was cold.

Finally, Ample Hills.

Once again, taking pictures of half-eaten food. Yum.