Skippy -- this really, really smiley little gentleman here -- was adopted a few weeks ago.
Social Tees fell for him as soon as he arrived, as he looked like a cuddly cross between a wombat and a wolverine. Not long after he was rescued from the kill shelter, a super damn cool family spotted him on Instagram and became obsessed.... and the rest is history.
His new mom says: "Adopting an adult dog was the best idea I've had in a while. He fits right into our schedule and the personality of our home. We only adopted him a few weeks ago yet I feel like he has been here forever.
I have two boys (11 and 14 yrs.) and there are tons of boys in and out all day long. Skippy is there to greet everyone and rolls over for his belly to be rubbed the minute you give him some attention. Skippy is a true "boy" dog in every sense of the word....If you toss him the ball he will leap in the air and catch it in his mouth. All the boys are so impressed and fight over who is going to throw the ball next!
The other night me and my two sons walked up to the avenue to the store and they took turns walking Skippy. No fighting.... just mellow and happy. It warmed my heart and I am so glad this all turned out the way it did. Keep doing what you're doing! I am a big believer in the universe....random acts of kindness....karma....and what a blessing we've all received!"
WANT SOME GOOD KARMA?????
TWO SENIORS NEED HOMES!!!
These two tiny seniors (under 13lbs) from the kill shelter, but need foster homes ASAP! They are super sweet, good with dogs/cats and fostering will last about 2-4 weeks. Please email us if you can help!! They are so sweet and deserve a new shot at life!
SOCIAL TEES NEEDS FURNITURE!
One of Social Tees' dearest volunteers has offered 2 rooms in her basement to use as a temporary safe haven for sick and injured animals. It's a bit empty! Now all they need is some decent furniture for their volunteers that will be taking shifts caring for those sick and injured animals! If you or someone you know has some decent furniture that they do not need any longer, please email Social Tees!! email@example.com
Originally posted on November 18, 2008. Florence had just died and like any reasonable insane adult in denial about grief, I jumped into a heartbreaking affair immediately after. Who else could I have sought out to pour bewilderment and confusion onto a dinner table, but her. When someone knows the molecules that built you, they are the only ones who know how to guide those pieces back when everything else falls apart. Today is her birthday. I do not understand those numbers for myself or for her. The minute I lay eyes on her I only see us, teenagers, her wilder and braver and me wishing I could be, running happy through the streets of Our New York. A Happy Birthday to my dearest friend.
This is one of my oldest friends. We met when we were twelve.
Before that I was on Grand Street, which was tough, and she was on 109th Street and Riverside, which was dangerous. We didn't know any different and if you ran fast enough it really didn't matter.
How my then 17-year-old sister decided we should meet and how she, with me in tow, traversed the many bus and train lines from the lower east side to the upper west side to make sure we did I don't know, but within minutes of meeting one another this other twelve year old and I became the best of friends.
In the ensuing three decades we spoke all the time, we didn't speak for years, we survived a new age spiritual community together, we recovered from that community apart, I visited her when she ran away to the then delapitated Fifth Avenue Hotel to be a 15 year old groupie, she was the only example I had of successful defiance, I was a bridesmaid when she married a man, host to her and her young girlfriend at the time after she left her husband and then host again to her and her current boyfriend, and during the recent New York City blackout in 2003, even though we hadn't spoken in years, stranded, she knew to come my house and spend the night.
So during my own blackout where the lights in my heart disappeared I knew to come to her and on a rainy night at the tiny French restaurant older than how long we knew each other, just as worn and welcoming as the home we felt for one another, the food as comforting as our affection for one another, a relief spreading across a tiny table, we were reminded that 40 years of friendship held dear and strong through loss and storm and and change.
No new words were said. But walking down the streets of our shared history, an emotional neighborhood that hadn't been obliteraged by sudden and not-so-sudden events, an internal city we didn't have to explain to one another, old familiar words offered new hope.
Remember the babies that were born a few weeks ago to two Chi mamas that Social Tees rescued off the euthanasia list during its LA Rescue Mission? Well,
the pups have opened their eyes and are starting to scramble around. There
are a total of eight puppies, and they are all eating a lot and using the
bathroom (...the floor) a lot -- If you can, PLEASE MAKE A MATERIAL DONATION via Social Tees' Amazon Wish List so that the folks there can continue providing the round-the-clock care
these guys require!
What do they need? LOTS of wee pads, chew sticks, weaning
food, cleaning supplies, and puppy and adult food (moms are hungry,
too!). You can find donation details here http://amzn.com/w/WY8BHUIGRAAO and THANK YOU SO MUCH!!
BLUE EYED BEAUTY SEEKS LOVE AND TENDERNESS
Chloe is a really damn attractive Angora mix. She's six years old and
awesomely friendly, just wiggles up to the front of her cage, meowing
and head butting the bars for affection when you get close to
say hello. Chloe is a big bodied lady, and while her curves are delicious, she
could stand to shed a few pounds for her own good. Some solid playtime
will take care of that! Come frolic with her! 325 East 5th Street, New York City.
A FOSTER HOME ASAP!!
Dusky's owner just passed away and he has nowhere to go. He's 10
years old, 15 lbs, very shy at first but friendly with everyone and
extremely loyal and loving. Good with other animals! Pickup is ASAP at
Social Tees; fostering lasts two to four weeks. Email
firstname.lastname@example.org now if you can help!!!!
I wanted the picture of the march through the East Village protesting Michael Brown's killing to leave my cell phone and arrive in my in-box.
But the phone was cranky.
Waiting for email to work, we could hear the police helicopters outside hovering above and siren sounds zooming around the neighborhood like a lasso.
Finally, the photo stopped flying around the ethernet.
It wasn't great but it was the picture of what was happening during a conversation with a kid-of-privilege in bermuda shorts and flip flops and a polo shirt and a pretty girlfriend with just the right amount of glossy make-up.
10th and Broadway
"They're pissing off the cops. But then they dial 911 when they're in trouble. The cops should you, you know, fuck you, give them the finger."
"That's not going to happen," I said.
"That's not going to happen," he said. But he said that like he and I were both disappointed with that. Like the cops should but they won't.
No. That's not the democracy I live in.
"Democracy says I get to assemble peacefully and still be guaranteed protection by the police," I said to him as he walked away with his girlfriend.
I know he heard me, but it was an inconvenient truth. And the march was rowdy, and there were many cops and lots of people were shouting slogans and they were angry and so what….
You want a neat democracy as pretty as your knitted shirt? Go some place where it doesn't exist. Life gets very neat when the noise of free assembly can't happen.
I live in the chaos that guarantees I can protest what I disagree with, the right to pray as I wish which may not be the way the guy next to me prays, and, most of all, the right to write any words I must write.
Isn't that why 10th Street filled up with hands raised in the air for Michael Brown? Isn't that what James Foley died for?
Originally posted October 11, 2009, there have been many hundreds of first steps taken since as we continue on into our missions.
We met in a tiny office for NYU graduate students. It was 1993 and she was very friendly. That's because she came from California.
We pounded out the idea of friendship together, did office work together, survived so-called writing classes together, graduated together, wept together, wrote together, planned together. We buried ideas, ex-boyfriends hopes, and parents together. Sixteens years were filled with gasps from infuriating new ideas, risks of spirit and never enough meat-fests from BBQ.
Now Josslyn is in Divinity School. I say a journey of a thousand miles starts with one step. She says when marching with Dr. King, Rabbi Heschel said "When I marched in Selma, my feet were praying."
And then there's the first step of recovery she and I had embarked on so many years ago:
We admitted we were powerless fighting the greatness of our mission and that our lives became unmanageable the minute we turned our backs on the Divine.
Futility like dating in the 1980s when there were only big answering machines but no cell phones and no voice mail and so you had to literally by the phone for that guy you had the perfect date with to call you...
(omg it was so great he kissed me good night and said "I'll call you" and then no call and you wonder if you were crazy because you could have sworn he liked you...)
Yep. That's what it was like being a Mets fan.
Watching a World Series game against the Yankees in 2000 was like watching a million dollar Ming Dynasty vase fall in slow motion with no hope of leaping across 20 feet to catch it.
And that was nothing compared to the decades of no rhyme or reason...
(the last game right before the 1994 strike everyone left Shea
Stadium in the 8th inning because it was 1-0 Phillies and who the hell
wanted to get stuck in traffic and we all sat there shaking our heads like you don't know what's going to happen and in the 15th inning the Mets lost 2-1)
Call it building a team by Moneyball theories, or figuring out a way to survive Bernie Maddoff so the Mets could stay in New York, or a good general manager, or bringing up talented kids from minor league…
Or maybe all of the above…those long-ago days have recently been replaced by steady, slow, almost consistent games. It's fun to watch them win. Or at least lose less.
But, that feeling of never knowing what's coming out of left field (literally or metaphorically) is familiar and when it's not there, you feel a little wobbly.
At the new predictable, steady, consistent Citi-Field, lots of loyal fans of their beloved team paid good money to pour their love into chiseled stone - tons of messages in stone tiles outside the stadium in the plaza all with Let's Go Mets! and We Love You!and YOU GOTTA BELIEVE!
But the Nicolau Family reminds us left field is always there... waiting....
Social Tees rescued Diamond from the kill shelter a few months ago.
Nobody wanted her because she was blind, six years old, black (black dogs and cats have a harder time getting adopted) and completely matted. All that amounted to being "undesirable."
Along came a wonderful couple that eagerly volunteered to foster her. BUT, as soon as they met her, their hearts were melted by her soft-spoken yet enthusiastic way of giving and asking for affection. Before long, they fell in love and decided to adopt her. And even better, their vet told them she actually had a good chance of regaining her vision through surgery, and fast forward to now...
Her proud mom says: "Lucy just had her eye surgery and she is no longer blind! When she went to her one week check up they said her eyes look great, the cataracts are gone, and she has regained almost all her sight already.
While we thought she was perfect before, but she is so excited to see again. It is pure joy to watch her explore and become much more independent and less anxious than she used to be. I loved having her attached to me all the time, but it's clearly so much more freeing for her to know what's around her.
Although not a huge fan of the cone, she has learned to use it as a carrying case for her baby (favorite stuffed animal), and she is great when it comes to letting us put her eye drops in (15 sets a day). I know a lot of people say this but we can't imagine life without her, or why anyone would have given her up. We're so lucky to have ended up with this funny, sweet, wonderful little girl. Thank you so much!"
NOW IT'S YOUR TURN
TO HAVE YOUR HEART MELT
JOIN THE LOVE!!!!!
Baker is 12 weeks old, super friendly and living, great with everyone.
Champ Blue, dumped by his
foster for no reason without a warning, is good with dogs,
loves all people and is housebroken! He has a good amount of energy and
needs a short-term foster home OR a forever home!
Packing up Florence's love letters to be donated to the Lesbian Herstory Archives meant peering into my mother's secret heart, the one that each of our parents have or had, where they loved and lost and yearned and romanced and dreamed.
Florence, late in life, had somehow unshackled herself from shadows she did not belong in and had flung herself into the arms of women for the chance to dance, wildly happy, to foxtrots and waltzes.
As I shifted through that overflowing file soon to be catalogued for future researchers and students of women's lives, I read proof of her comings and goings and her many attempts to make love last longer than a Benny Goodman song. Every broken-heart ballad became a documentary of her crash and burns after leaps of faiths. And every love song became a wild wish when you blow out the candles.
I could only think then that her efforts had been a role model of how to succeed at failure. Love had not worked for her and so often love had not worked for me.
But, as the Mariner pointed out one day, in baseball, the really great hitters fail 70 percent of the time. These guys, getting multi-million dollar contracts, were literally failing into success.
I didn't remember that as I tried to capture the perfect picture of "Surprise! It's Our Anniversary Roses a day early because you're home sick!"
So I had to accept that only I would know how the flowers illustrated the house with three years of joy and beauty and were a portrait of that unique private connection, filled with our own wildly happy dancing.
We found each other so late in our own lives, after failing so many times. What, in that first date, which just happened to have been the same date of my parent's wedding anniversary which led to a marriage that could be called a complete failure, what was it in those five hours of talking, arguing, eating, arguing, eating again that coaxed us to, once again, leap?
That sneeze was a fluke. The COPD was just allergies. And broken rib? What broken rib?
I learned at the broken ribs of a master. Knowing that I am sick takes others telling me to shut up, go home, lie down. Well, it takes a lot to admit defeat to something that doesn't have a face or a pair of fists. But so be it.
A May Day Post of 2011 commemorating sick days.
Juggling a soup bowl or a cup of tea, Florence would point her finger at me and say, "Well, you know it's all your fault."
After that statement of fact, the rest of the day would be spent curled with a pile of my favorite books and the radio tuned to the New York City radio station that broadcast children shows for all the sick kids stuck at home. On special days, I even got to spend the day in my parents' bed. Naps would sneak up on me and when the radio was tuned to WABC AM, music like 'These Boots Are Made For Walking' would transform my dreams to music videos before video had even been invented.
These days, books and a mini-tv and the cat keep me company as I drift in and out of naps. Every once in a while I tell myself "Well, you know it's all your fault."
The idea that you can actually pick what you like rather than what is there is the height of luxury. So, an encore after five hours of dragging the Mariner through Ikea and another six hours of weaving new things into a house found on the street. Ok, so I always start at the "As -Is" section, but still….
Originally posted December 12, 2009.
You left things on the street. You picked things up from the street. It was the New York Ikea when Ikea was still just in Sweden and New Jersey.
Beds, chairs, mattresses, bureaus, shelves, knick-knacks, desks, cupboards, plates, cups, coats, even shoes. Florence had many, many chairs gotten from departing neighbors, Coney Island vendors and street corner garbage heaps. I had many many chairs and surprisingly many many tables from departing roommates, stoop sales and street corner garbage heaps.
But now even if the items are left to be taken on sidewalks or by trash cans, even if there is a note that says TAKE ME, I feel a hesitancy, an embarrassment as it were that thirty years after furnishing my first and only home from the remnants of other people's lives, I am still too broke to buy things new.
In the final sweep of emptying Florence's apartment, things have come in and things now wait to go out, this time maybe to a friend, or neighbors.
Or if left on the street corner, maybe to someone still brave enough to pick it up and take it home.
Regulus is a real, honest-to-God Tibetan
Mastiff. Four years old. Very low key, GREAT with dogs and people, but not fond of cats.
He's also a cuddle-bunny. One thing is for sure, taking this boy on a stroll will give you ALL the attention you can imagine PLUS some more (AKA CHICK-DUDE MAGNET!!!!)
Social Tees is looking for a short-term foster home. Who of you big dog lovers can
help this big baby out? They do NOT want to have to put him in a kennel. If you can help, please email: email@example.com
Adoption events at Social Tees!!!! Kittens, cats, all sizes, shapes, colors…..
Any attempt to take a picture went by the wayside. The chair was his and the shoes had to share.
I had interrupted his attempts to woo the Little Girl. She cried when he tackled her and that was going too far.
So losing at love, he did what many do. He conquered. In this case, a chair set aside for a pair of old shoes.
Those shoes were my first pair of high heels. Bought at the 14th Street Synagogue's bazaar in 1970 or so, they were old then, too. But they fit and the heel wasn't too high. No one would notice an eleven-year old wearing shoes beyond her years.
Years, later, the first office job in customer service for a fabric company had been found after cleaning houses, caring for children, and being a bike messenger. It was the height of luxury, sitting in a chair while earning money and being paid for 15-minute breaks for coffee and smokes.
It also came with a gang of girls from the other four boroughs in full 1970's fashion, sashaying high waisted pants with pronounced panty-lines and striding thick, clunky platform shoes, their shags wind-swept, each part of their beings swathed in the right stuff that promised of love.
I wore baggy shirts and pants that hid nights of drinking and a round-the-clock junk food diet. After several suggestions, reprimands and then final warnings about dressing more professional, which only meant dressing more lady-like, I knew I had to do something . So one day I pulled out out the shoes, and with a skirt found somewhere cheap, maybe Klein's or Alexander's or Korvette's, I showed up to work.
There's a particular kind of office-silence that rises from whisper-hissing from furious girls, who one by one stormed into the break room to stare in horror and contempt at an old pair of kitten heel, black suede shoes bought second-hand years before. It defied their many hours of effort, making sure from head-to-toe they were the right thing to be loved.
I may have given up the chair tonight to a pissed off hissing cat. But that day, I stayed seated, giving up nothing.
Social Tees recently saved this girl from the euthanasia list.
Do you know an experienced foster or adoptive family willing and able to give her the care she needs for the next 10 weeks starting immediately?
She's about two years old and is only 7 pounds. She's great with other dogs and cats and is VERY friendly. She absolutely loves snuggling and wants nothing more than belly rubs from everyone she meets.
If it's a foster place, Social Tees can help with supplies etc. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org asap if you can foster this mama!!
HAPPY ENDINGS!!!!!!!! THE LEGAL KIND!!!!
This one is particularly dear to both Social Tees and Her New York's hearts
for a few reasons.
One, it's about black cats...
We LOVE black cats. Black cats get euthanized in higher
numbers than any other color cat, so the
more black rescues, the better!
Two, it's about Star, a Social Tees favorite, the handsome boy on the right.
dear friend of Social Tees regularly took Star to the hospice he works at so
Star could provide affection and therapy to a cat-loving resident who
was slowly passing away. Star was... well... a star there. When it came
time for him to find a forever home, he found exactly the right one
where he could continue doing what he does best -- giving love with a
twist of mischief.
His mom says: "I adopted Star last December as a
companion for my cat Macallan, whose brother had died suddenly around
Thanksgiving. Star (now Oliver) was a tough nut to crack but has turned
into a loving, playful, chubby friend. Oliver seems very content in his
new home and enjoys keeping Macallan on his toes. Thanks for allowing
him to become a part of our family."
MY PRIVATE CONEY presents IT WAS HER NEW YORK, the short stories that accompany the work-in-progress video and photo collection of the same name (myprivateconey.com - media link - IT WAS HER NEW YORK). The stories and the media explore the tender rubble that holds both my mother, Florence's and New York's soul as one disappears into old age and the other into gentrification. All are real observations and/or experiences with very little tall-tale telling.
Except when it makes the story better.
Please visit myprivateconey.com for additional information and sample works.