Stumbled across this video. Pretty cool.
James Clear posted this message earlier today on social media:
We need to release the social expectation to be everywhere.
There are too many inboxes: Text Email Twitter replies & DMs Instagram comments & DMs Facebook Messenger
More ways to communicate does not always lead to better communication.
And why not add “Container Diaries” blog as another tool to communicate.
I miss the days of talking on the phone, hanging out on the street corner, Prospect park, Parkside and of course, the schoolyards around the neighborhood.
Face to face communication…that’s what I miss.
DNA info with the disturbing story below…
The 60-year-old unidentified man was found by police Sunday afternoon after passersby reported a smell to authorities, police said. Officers discovered the man lying face up inside a small tent in a wooded area near the park’s Center Drive.
Still in shock.
Or as Mick Jagger would say, “State of Shock.”
John Cain was a huge Rolling Stones fan…
Here’s an awesome tribute from Robert Fields on J.C.
What a heartbreak for the Cain and Davis Families! My sympathies to all, especially Mr Cain, John’s son, Kathy Ferris, Pat and Tim, and all the nieces, nephews and cousins from WT/Holy Name and NJ.
John was my oldest friend, who spent many happy days with his grandfather and grandmother on 16th Street (the late, great Bridie Davis, also grandmother to Noreen and the Windsor Place Davis families), two doors up from our old place on 16th (John’s sister Kathy and her family have lived there for years, and still do).
John and I palled around since we were born (joined a year later by Sean Keating from across the street), attending kindergarten at PS 154 together, and then–on one of the rainiest days I ever remember–we marched up to Holy Name together to start our academic careers, full of excitement and hope, he in his blue rain slicker, me in my yellow one. When we got through the huge school doors, we were quickly disappointed, as they literally had to separate us to join two different homerooms, me to Miss Schiotis (sp?) and John elsewhere down the hall. We never again had the same class in our 8 years at Holy Name, and John later went to Loughlin and I to Xaverian, but we always hung out anyway as before, either on 16th or Seeley, or in the park/subway/wherever the fun/girls/excitement was to be found.
It was a pleasure knowing John, who truly could be said to have had a twinkle in his eyes (a gift from his mother, Irene, who had the same); nonetheless, a tougher/gentler guy you couldn’t find, and I was happy many a time to have had him in my corner when the going got tough! He worked too, and was a hard grafter. He had sense of right and wrong, and while mostly quiet, when he did speak, he spoke from the heart and wasted few words. Anyone our age (HNS Class of ’78 or thereabouts) would know the fun times we all had at the Prospect Park Corral, a secluded place just off the Circle/9th Ave., with the boombox as a musical backdrop to socializing in the park, a place to meet and date pretty girls, get up-to-date on the latest news and gossip, and figure out our way in the world as teenagers always do.
As times go by we lose track of friends, and focus on careers and family, while the years pass more quickly than ever. I regret not keeping up with John since I moved to London (22+ years!), but only a few years ago, John’s older brother Tim moved over here and married an English girl like I did, and we would go out whenever our schedules would permit and talk and laugh about the good old times in Brooklyn. How I regret now not calling John, who I think about often. My sympathies on the loss of a great guy and good friend.
We’ll meet again, pal, I’m sure.
As a kid I loved Friday night.
When I was 15, I had a blast. Hard to choose; Friday or Saturday as my favorite day of the week?
Went to the schoolyard to play ball.
Played some more ball.
Afterwards we hung out on the corner of Windsor and Ninth watching all the people go by. We broke balls. You learned to take it. We broke more balls.
Went home for dinner. Fishcakes and beans.
Showered and went over to Prospect Park. It’s the place we met up. You just knew to go there. If you grew up in the neighborhood, as a teen, it’s where you hung out. Each generation. Parkside. Circle. In the park. The benches. Pick a spot. We spent time there.
At around seven o’clock picked up some booze. Walked back to the park. Always in a brown paper bag, trying to hide it. Little did we know, everyone knew what we had under our arms. LOL
Head over to the bleachers, take a seat and we’re off.
Drink and bullshit. Bullshit and drink.
Music on the radio, come on baby.
There must have been 20 of us. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
You were always welcomed if you were an outsider. If you came from another parish. If you came in peace.
Friends hanging out. Having fun. Not a care in the world. Teacher, leave them kids alone.
No idea what was ahead.
No clue as to what I wanted to do.
Oh wait, I wanted to be an Ironworker. Still had a couple of years to go though.
At around eight or nine you snuggled up with your lady.
Holding hands. Touching. Kissing.
Next you and your girl took a walk.
Either you went behind the bleachers or you walked out to the diamonds.Maybe you walked up to Quaker cemetery?
Time to make-out. Plant that kiss. I had no idea what to do. No one ever taught me how to kiss.
Maybe you chased each other around a little. All in fun of course.
Pairing off with your girlfriend was my favorite time of the night. Always looked forward to it. I was in love. Puppy love.
Somewhere around eleven, it was time to go.
Saying good-bye to everyone and making that walk to her house.
Holding hands exiting the park. A little buzzed. Walking across ninth avenue, past Farrell’s; men looking at you. “There he goes…”
Hanging a right down Windsor Place.
At a snails pace I might add.
In front of the house, I hated kissing her good-night. I didn’t want her to go. Wanted to be with her all-night. Felt like I may never see her again.
Couldn’t wait for tomorrow…