Prior to the bike ride, members of Time's Up! posed for photographs in the southern courtyard at Union Square Park.

by: Max Behrman

Even for New York, it was a most unusual sight: around 15 people on bicycles, dressed as polar bears, wearing white from head to toe. Surgical masks with bear noses and mouths drawn on them were strapped to their faces. And as the caravan snaked through the West and East Villages, Alphabet City and the Lower East Side, bicycling bears shouted at the gawkers and walkers on the streets: “Where’s the ice?” “You seen any icebergs around here?” All the while, music blasted from a loudspeaker to get the attention of passersby.

It wasn’t simply street theater; it was a call to environmental action by participants in the Future Sea Level Ride, held in commemoration of October 24, the International Day of Climate Action. The entire afternoon was cursed with overcast and rainy skies, but bad weather alone was not enough to cancel the event, which was sponsored by a non-profit environmental group called Time’s Up!. According to the day’s organizer, 350.org, 181 countries, at 5,200 events, participated in this “most widespread day of environmental action in the planet’s history.” 350.org is an international campaign whose mission, according to its Web site, is “to inspire the world to rise to the challenge of the climate crisis — to create a new sense of urgency and of possibility for our planet.” The group’s moniker comes from the “safe upper limit” for CO₂ levels in our atmosphere (350 parts per million), after which it is said that life becomes threatened.

But Bill Dipaola, the founder and director of Time’s Up!, noted that the Day of Climate Action was actually geared toward raising awareness about a sustainable energy “Climate Conference” that will be held in Copenhagen this December. “A number of us are going to the Copenhagen conference,” Dipaola said. “It’s a two-way street… We learn globally, bring it back locally. Your actions locally affect the whole planet globally.”

Due to rain, the bike ride had lower-than expected turnout, Dipaola said, noting the irony of the situation: Lots of rain is caused by climate change, he said. “It’s gonna be super wet, super dry, and it’s really gonna be tough for farmers.”

The ride began at Union Square South at about 5 p.m. Volunteers and activists, who had arrived earlier, patiently waited in rain puddles along the southern courtyard in the park. Once all the polar bears arrived and set up the sound system (a loudspeaker and iPod), it was time to begin the ride through lower Manhattan. But it wasn’t long before their ride was nearly halted…

Sometimes the best-laid plans of bears and environmentalists alike are foiled — such was the case when two bears decided to climb onto some scaffolding, drawing the attention of not only the New York walkers, but the police as well. Not three blocks away from Union Square Park, the ride came to a halt at the intersection of Broadway and East 12^th Street. While the rain continued falling and music blared, two of the polar bears acted their parts and climbed up the nearby scaffolding.

Two of the polar bears climbed scaffolding along Broadway -- shortly after, NYPD arrived to end the charade.

The inevitable occurred –– NYPD began flashing the blue and red and exiting their vehicles. The two offending bears quickly descended, and other group members began hastily riding away. All but one of the volunteers made it out in time; the straggler was dealt the short straw and had to answer to the law (the riders had taken to a code of “those left behind must [unfortunately] stay behind”).

The group rendezvoused at the Alamo sculptor (more commonly referred to as the Cooper Cube, or simply, the Cube) on St. Mark’s Place and Cooper Square. Again, they resumed climbing on top of the public property, this time including the walk/don’t walk signs. To accompany this display, the bears also began dancing to the music and crushing ice cubes on the street (a reference to the progressing loss of our polar ice caps due to climate change).

After the sculpture stop, the bears rode further east until they decided to stop at the first of two ice cream parlors. “We’re using ice cream as an artificial stimulant until we can find the ice,” said Dipaola. While some volunteers/bears ate ice cream, others danced along the sidewalk. It was safe to say most of the polar bears were having a good time.

Ben Cerf, one of the polar bears, has been with Time’s Up! for a year. He prefers it to other activist groups because of their ability to have fun with the issues. “I don’t have to tie myself to a tree to make a point,” he said. Instead, the group gets its message across “in a fun fashion, with humor.” Cerf says he contributes to the green movement by engaging in a number of green practices –– he bikes everywhere he goes, shops at co-ops for food, clothing and other green goods and makes his share of attempts to avoid purchasing goods not made locally.

But even he said he can’t be green all the time. “It’s unavoidable,” he said of sometimes succumbing to corporate America. “You just try.”

The bears used ice cream as a device to forward their message. "We're trying to find the ice," they kept telling onlookers.

Tony Redhouse performs the hoop dance, dressed in his traditional regalia. Photo courtesy of Fred Willie.

On a dreary October night, New Yorkers are transported to a world of acoustic and visual enrapture. As the stage is illuminated in a blue glow, the sound of bells jingling, drumming, and feet thumping penetrates the room. The crowd is hushed as the dancers dance their way into the hall in a neat line, singing loudly. Performing the Grand Entry, the dancers reach the stage and dance around the circle, entrancing spectators with their effortless movements and passion.

In the National Museum of the American Indian’s Diker Hall, people search for refuge from the cold rain. They have gathered together for the Traditional Dance Social with the Thunderbird American Indian Dancers and Singers. The auditorium, with a capacity for over 200 seats, is packed, and spectators stand along the walls.

The Thunderbird Dance Ensembles performed a series of traditional Native American dances with narration by their Director Louis Mofsie. Each year the company performs a night of dance at the museum, providing Natives and non-Natives with a look into the vibrant and diverse culture of North America’s indigenous peoples. Mofsie, from the Hopi and Winnebago Tribes, narrated the stories and meanings behind each of the dances, emphasizing the similarities and differences of the many Native tribes.

“The Native American culture is very much alive today,” Mofsie says. “It’s important to be proud of who you are and to keep our song and dance alive.”

He explained that traditional clothes worn by the dancers are called regalia and not “costumes” which he deems disrespectful. No two regalia were the same among the more than 20 dancers composed of male and female, young and old, dark and light-skinned. Their colors and intricate beadwork under the stage lighting illuminated the hall. Multi-coloredbeads, soft feathers, and beaver fur adorned their regalia. Some women wore long silk shawls that draped on their backs with utmost dignity. The bells hanging from one woman’s dress created a rhythmic beat as she danced the circle. There were knee-high camel colored moccasins and bright jewelry.

Tony Redhouse, a traditional Native American spiritual teacher, says that each individual chooses the regalia that he or she wears to dance. On his regalia he wears blue to represent the freedom of the sky and ocean, red to represent the trials of life, and white to represent purity.

“The message is more profound than the dance itself because it speaks about life, relationships, animals, and the earth,” he says. “The traditional dance, like music, tells a story.”

Redhouse, who is a recording artist and traditional dancer, added that dance socials are especially important in cities like New York because “people from different tribes come together to a common drumbeat that they can all relate to.”

The culture’s rich history of oral tradition includes orations, stories, prayers, and songs. Music plays an important role in Native American culture; it provides an emotional and artistic outlet for the community. Variations in song and dance exist among the various tribes, but general trends can be seen within the same geographic region of the country.

Social gatherings, known as pow-wows, began in the mid-nineteenth century and continue to this day. It has become an expression of American Indian identity and a way to explore the rich heritage it has to offer. But the dances are not merely a physical ritual; they are packed with symbolic and spiritual meaning that make them all the more interesting and engaging. In the Grass Dance, the position of the dancer causes flowing regalia to move in a way reminiscent of the blowing grass of the prairie. In the Buckskin Dance, dancers must move in perfect harmony with the drums to symbolize their grace and dignity. Native American dances also symbolize harmony with nature and respect for the Earth Mother.

Saturday’s dance social at the museum represented about 20 tribes performing different dances. To the right of the stage a group of four men and four women beat the drum and sang traditional Native songs. Dancers danced in a large circle around the stage. Some dances were fast and consisted of the dancers thudding the ground with their feet and twirling fast. Others were more subdued, in tune with the soft drumming.

Mofsie explained that the traditional women’s dance of the Great Plains is among the oldest types of Native dance. Women danced the circle in a dignified manner swaying their shawls from side to side. The music to this dance was slow and rhythmic and the women looked like butterflies as they twirled and held their shawls.

A skilled hoop dancer danced alone with six hoops. She picked them up without using her hands. She positioned her body so that she passed through the hoops in a marvelous act of flexibility. The crowd strained forward to see the seemingly impossible feat. After this dance Mofsie invited the audience to dance on the stage, of which many did.

The continuity of dance traditions illustrates the Native American community’s pride in its heritage. It is a celebration of their identity that also serves a social role of bringing different tribes together to enjoy dance and music.

Redhouse and many others value their heritage and history and want others to experience the beauty of this art form.

“Dancing brings the community together,” Redhouse says. “And the drumbeat brings people together and heals the community.”

NEW YORK-  No meat eating. No intoxication.  No gambling.  No premarital sex.   Those are the vows he keeps in order to control personal desire and reach enlightenment.  He shaves his dark hair, leaving just a tuft in back to symbolize his renunciation of material selfishness.  Those are the orange robes he cloaks around himself- their color symbolizes celibacy.  He wears a necklace of beads carved from Tulasi wood to remind him of his devotion to his god, Krishna.  Ghanashyam.  That’s the Sanskrit name 30-year-old Joseph Caruso took when he became a Hare Krishna monk eight years ago.  Before his initiation, he was young man from Redbank, NJ, searching for answers and a deeper purpose to life.

The questions started with the music.  Caruso began studying piano in high school and said he became fascinated with music’s mysterious emotional power.  When he sat at the piano to play Chopin, he sensed the expanse of something infinite between the black and white keys.  When he listened in his room to Scriabin, he felt an inexplicable pull of some spiritual dimension embedded in the notes.  He heard it in John Coltrane’s pivotal recording, “A Love Supreme,” where the saxophonist came to realize that his purpose for playing music was to glorify God.  “What is the source of the feeling that comes through music?” Caruso asked.  The great composers seemed to know the answer.  “They were awakening in me a desire to go deeper.

Caruso’s Italian family was never very religious.  But when he began studying classical piano performance at New Jersey City University, Caruso started making frequent trips to New York City, to explore churches and mosques and the ideas housed inside their walls.  He read the Bible and Buddhist texts.  And he continued to search for the answer to his question.

He found the answer inside himself.  “What do I want more than anything else?” he asked himself one night.  “I realized it’s a spiritual desire.  I want eternal love, lasting love.”

On one of his trips to the city, when he was twenty-two, he encountered a man selling copies of the sacred Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita.  Caruso was skeptical.  Instead of reading the scripture, he researched the religion.  Online, he found the teachings of Swami Prabhupada, the guru who sailed to New York on a freight ship in 1965 at age 65 to spread the Hare Krishna tradition to the West.  He sensed Prabhupada had experienced a higher satisfaction and true happiness.  Prabhupada drew him in, like Scriabin, like Coltrane.

Caruso stewed with the new ideas for three weeks before venturing to the room where Prabhupada founded America’s first Hare Krishna temple.  On a Monday night, he stepped through door at 26 Second Avenue and sat down for a class on the Bhagavad Gita.  One month later, he was Ghanashyam.  He never left.

Today, Ghanashyam sits in that same room, hosting a vegetarian buffet for hungry college students three days a week.  Indian music floats through the air, along with the smell of warm food.  People gather in chairs, or on cushions on the floor, eating and talking softly.  Photographs of

Swami Prabhupada hang on the wall.  Ghanashyam sits near the door, greeting guests.  Sometimes his hand rests on a table, next to a copy of the Bhagavad Gita.  Sometimes he memorizes his favorite Sanskrit passages he has written in a notebook.  “I was a little suspicious coming here,” he said.  “I didn’t know what this was really all about…  Then I saw there’s a wealth of 5000 years of tradition behind this.”

Ghanashyam lives with thirteen monks in an ashram in an apartment building on First Avenue.  By 5 am they are all singing and dancing together.  They meditate and study scripture.  There is a piano in the temple, but Ghanashyam said he doesn’t play- that music started his search for the spiritual fulfillment he has found.

Even with strict relinquishments and serious devotion, he retains an innate sense of humor.  “He’s a wild prankster,” said Doyal Guaranga, 25, another monk and Ghanashyam’s friend of five years.  “He’s the most mischievous person in our group.”  He laughingly told stories of Ghanashyam leaving a statue in his closet and improvising goofy stories.  “Humor is a very important part of any life; the soul naturally needs happiness and I think he brings that in a very balanced way,” Doyal Guaranga said.

Ghanashyam confessed to adding extra chili peppers to the monks’ soup until it was just shy of too spicy.  “Krishna himself was very mischievous and funny,” he pointed out.

The Bhagavad Gita teaches that the monks’ vows of abstention can clear away obstacles of selfishness, greed, and envy in order to reach a higher satisfaction: eternal love.  “Real love means always giving, unconditionally,” Ghanashyam said.  “If one can love Krishna, then that love can become more and more pure.  And once that love is pure, then it can be applied to other human beings… it becomes compassion.”

Perhaps it is Ghanashyam’s compassion that helps him to remain so devoted.  When he distributes spiritual literature in Union Square, people sometimes ask, “’What are you doing wasting your time?’”  But he knows most congregants join for the same reason he did- from meeting a monk on the street.  He said shrugging off the naysayers is easy knowing he can affect just one person.

It was harder to shrug it off when the naysayers were his closest childhood friends.  The group of five boys did everything together, laughing and goofing around.  They pulled pranks and tried to shock each other with stunts- like the time they pressured a teenage Caruso to drop his chalk in the middle of math class and take a running jump from the blackboard to dive over the classroom partition.  Caruso cleared the barrier and landed in the middle of another class.

Ghanashyam said the reckless crew who drank and smoked didn’t understand when he gave up intoxication.  When he moved to live in the temple, “they were kind of really disturbed,” he said.  “At some point they just couldn’t relate to what I was doing.”  He paused.  “When you make a decision like this it reveals who your real friends are.”  He still sees them sometimes, when he visits his mother in New Jersey, but their relationship is different.

Since moving into the ashram, Ghanashyam has formed deep friendships with the other monks.  He discovered they came from all over the world- Russia, Germany, India, South America- to strive for a life of compassion.

Charlie McCorkell admits that it was “pretty insane” to open a bike shop in Manhattan in 1978. Only a few cyclists were riding at the time, and the city streets were “unfriendly” to those who did ride.

But he wasn’t thinking about that. He was determined to make a living and a life out of something he loved.

It all started when McCorkell and his wife attended a wedding, where they were seated at a table with a group of lawyers. McCorkell, a civil engineer who had graduated from Cooper Union 12 years earlier, listened to the lawyers talk about how dissatisfied they were with their careers.

“Afterwards, my wife asked me what I really wanted to do and I told her I wanted to make a living out of bikes,” McCorkell said, “Something that I really believe in.”

She then suggested he open a bike store.

“And that’s what I did,” he said.

His passion for bikes began during his junior year of college. McCorkell commuted everyday from his parents’ apartment in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn to his classes in the East Village by subway. There was one moment that he can still remember, aboard the “F” train, when he felt such a disconnect from the city in the dark subway car.

He skipped his second class that day to take out $100 from the bank and go to Stuyvesant bikes where he bought a three-speed black Raleigh and he immediately knew it “was so much better than taking the subway” as he rode over the Brooklyn Bridge, looking out at the Statue of Liberty.

Bicycle Habitat, his store on 244 Lafayette Street, really hasn’t changed in the 31 years since it first opened because it’s focus has remained the same: “We wanted to market real bikes for real people,” McCorkell said. “And we wanted to be integral to bike advocacy in New York City.”

Concentrating on the urban cyclist, Bicycle Habitat offers repair classes and test rides.

“Everyone who works here rides in the city, so we know what works best,” said Eric Scho, the store’s manager.

Packed from floor to ceiling with colorful metal bikes, Bicycle Habitat sells everything from cycling apparel to Trek road bikes, their most popular product, which ranges in price from $400 to $1,250.

The shop has been named “New York’s best bike store” by both New York Magazine and The Daily News this past year. New York Magazine recognized it in its 2009 “Best of New York Shopping” section, saying: “Bicycle Habitat is the best overall, for its price range, beloved repair crew, and its owner, Charlie McCorkell, who’s been a cornerstone of the city’s biking community for more than two decades.”

Yet McCorkell does not seem to care about the awards and recognitions. His main concern is contributing to the city’s cycling community.

McCorkell has been actively involved with Transportation Alternatives, a New York City-based non-profit advocacy organization for cycling, since 1975.

Bicycle Habitat and Transportation Alternatives worked together to lay the groundwork for bicycle advocacy, an uphill battle during 1970’s and ‘80’s, when New York drivers clearly did not want to share the streets with cyclists, McCorkell said.

“Back when I started riding, I got spit on at least once a week, and I would be squeezed off the road by cars,” he said. “There weren’t many cyclists back then at all, but now drivers expect to see us on the roads because of the sheer number of us.”

Even now, he said, there is a long way to go educating both drivers and cyclists on how to share the roads.

McCorkell was among those who successfully campaigned to have the city’s first bike lanes installed on the roads and he personally takes credit for making the Brooklyn bridge bike accessible.

McCorkell and Bicycle Habitat also support many cycling events throughout the city. Most recently, it helped sponsor “Summer Streets,” organized by the New York City Department of Transportation. The event closed off Lafayette Street and Park Avenue to vehicles from the Brooklyn Bridge to Central Park, leaving the roads open to bicycles and pedestrians.

There is no such thing as a typical day at Bicycle Habitat. Running the store is always hectic because of economic challenges and finding employees with cycling knowledge and customer service skills, McCorkell added.

Despite the challenges he faces, McCorkell said it is all worth it to hear customers come into the shop with cycling success stories.

“It’s great when people come in and tell me that they’ve lost weight from cycling or that they’ve completed their first bike race,” he said.

Ellen Jaffe, a board member of New York Cycle Club, has been a customer at Bicycle Habitat for 30 years because she “likes the store’s vibes.”

Jaffe said Bicycle Habitat is different from other bikes stores in New York because of the employees’ friendliness and the way they support the cycling community.

“It’s the Woodstock of the city bike stores,” she said.

Although McCorkell has upgraded from that first three-speed bike, he says he still rides to work every day, and loves every minute.

By Julianna Miller

“The reason I created this blog is…because it is who I am.” Margaret Fontana said. She is a first generation Italian-American who created italianamericangirl.com, a blog about all things Italian in New York.

Fontana said she created her Italian-American blog because she wanted to use her identity as an Italian-American in her daily life. She wanted to think and talk about her culture. She said, “You want to be able to keep a part of your culture preserved and talk to other people who are looking for those same answers on family… ancestors and heritage.” There are other ‘cultural bloggers’, specifically Italian-American, that are helping to achieve what Fontana set out to do when she started: rediscover and share the Italian-American culture in this new forum.

Margaret Fontana, from her website, italianamericangirl.com

The most recent post on Fontana’s blog comes from guest blogger and author Patricia Volonkis Davis. She shares the story of her Thanksgiving meal with her “just ‘American’” husband and stepsons. She writes about mashed potatoes getting spattered on the kitchen floor and explains why food has greater meaning in her life because she is Italian-American. She wrote, “If I invite guests to my home and discover that I didn’t make sufficient quantities of every food to feed them all, I’ll drop down dead of mortification, right then.”

 “I’m a first-generation Italian-American. That slash says it all.” Volonkis Davis wrote, “It means that though I was born in the United States, walk American and, for the most part, talk American, my blood corpuscles are suffused with foreign tendencies for which science has yet to find an antidote.”

Fontana, whose parents left their family in Calabria, Italy, for the suburbs of New York City in the 1960s, said she “struggled with [her] cultural identity growing up.”

 “I grew up in a distinctly Italian household… But we wanted to be American and do American things.” Fontana said that her and her three siblings would never have missed a family event to hang out like their friends may have. She also said that living away at college was a big deal to her parents, who had a more conservative mindset, because in Italy most young women are expected to stay close to home.

 “This [college] was a big deal for my family because they were immigrants,” Fontana said. “Everything was a learning experience.”

After “really the best four years” in college, Fontana, now 34, works in the television industry and is an Emmy Award nominated television producer for educational shows on the Discovery Channel. Italianamericangirl.com was voted one of the top 100 blogs created by women by the “Daily Reviewer,” a website that sorts and chooses top blogs. Fontana is also working to create an Italian-American television network for the same reasons she created her blog.

“I want to report on mainstream things relating to Italian-Americans, whatever is current and happening today.” On italianamericangirl.com Fontana writes about her personal experiences, family history and news and events in New York City relating to the Italian-American community.

Last week Fontana wrote a blog post about a Sicilian-born singer, Carmen Consoli, who will be performing in New York next month. Below that post is one from guest blogger, comedian Maryann Maisano, who shared the story of her childhood and promoted her comedy tour “Italian Chicks.” Below that is a link to Italian-American pop star Lady Gaga’s new music video “Bad Romance.”

Fontana wants to “update the cultural discussion of Italian-Americans.” The younger generations are of particular interest to her, who she says are more disconnected from their heritage more than any other age group.

Fontana said younger Italian-Americans are identifying with stereotyped versions of their culture or not at all. “They latch onto what mainstream American culture tells you what it means to be an Italian-American. Whether this is through the Olive Garden, movies like ‘The Godfather,’ or stereotypes about the mob and mafia.”

One of her goals is to help the younger generations create their own cultural identity. She said, “I want to let them know that there are these people who happen to be Italian-American that get together, they network and find out what they have in common.”

Fontana sells Italian American T Shirts on her website

Fontana is not the only cultural blogger out there.

“Bleeding Espresso” is written by Michelle Fabio, who “finds love, her roots and a coffee addiction in Southern Italy.” In 2003 Fabio, a freelance writer and attorney, moved to Italy to the village of her ancestors, Badolato.

In an older post she wrote about “how a jean jacket and some wind can change your life. Or at least mine.” She told the story of a man, the man she later fell in love with, who rallied a group of boys in the village to find her jacket that had been blown away by the wind.

“Cooking With Nonna” is a website centered around a very large part of Italian-American culture. Rossella Rago, 21, hosts a cooking web show with various Italian Nonnas.

Rago’s most recent webisode featured Nonna Maria Nibaldi from Frosolone. Nonna Maria showed Rago how to prepare pasta frittata, a dish from the region of Molise in Southern, Italy. Nonna Maria has been cooking since her mother taught her when she was 12 or 13 years old. Rago was featured in Fontana’s blog this October.

Sara Rosso, author of the blog “Ms. Adventure Italy,” is half Italian-American from California and is living and working, as a technological strategist, in Milan. She originally created her blog as a travel log for her family and friends to follow.

“Living in Italy has definitely taught me that the Italian American culture…is its own,” Rosso said, “while it is not better or worse than Italian culture [it] should have its own recognition.” Rosso considers her self to be an expatriate and said that the majority of her readers are American with a few in Italy because of the expat network.

“We are all Americans…but for me…it is about knowing and embracing a culture…understanding that I am American because my parents made huge sacrifices to be here,” Fontana said, “They gave up their family and homeland for greater living and the American way.”

Fontana's Grandfather and her mother as a child in Italy

By Roxanne Emadi

Some locals stop by Polish chocolate shop Wedel once a week to keep a chocolate box at home, some once a month to pick up a gift for a doctor, priest or friend, and one regular stops in at 10 AM every morning to buy the same three candies.

“Every few months he’ll try something new,” said chocolate-mecca’s store manager, Caroline Posobiec, 22. “But every day it’s always the same.”

Located on a bustling corner of Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn – the center of Polish New York – the shop is independently owned but its name is an homage to Poland’s most popular chocolate brand.

Outside, a green and white sign bears Wedel’s name and phone number in cracking paint. Inside, the shop explodes with dizzying displays of imported sweets. Chocolate boxes line the walls up to the ceiling and a counter that wraps around the store is buried under heaping baskets of colorfully wrapped caramels, rum-filled chocolate cups, coconut truffles or chocolate-covered plums to take home by the pound. By Christmas, the entire store will burst with holiday-themed edible gifts.

Slodycze Wedel on Halloween day.

Although some Polish grocery stores or delis carry similar chocolates, Slodycze Wedel (it’s full name) is one of two stores unaffiliated with, but devoted to Polish candies in the United States. The other, in a Polish enclave of Chicago goes by the same name.

Slodycze Wedel’s owner began buying and distributing Wedel products wholesale in the 1990s around the time PepsiCo bought 159-year old confectionary that was founded by a man said to be the Polish Willy Wonka. It has since been sold to Cadbury Schweppes. In 1996, high demand inspired him to open a retail shop which grew to offer over 400 varieties of treats from Wedel and 24 other Polish chocolate manufacturers.

“When I came here for the first time, I was like, ‘This is impossible!’” said store clerk Sabina Nowak, 29, a community college student who moved to New York from Southern Poland five years ago. “I came from a small town and we never had all this variety.”

The Brooklyn shop that sells the ultimate indulgence of home in super-sized American quantities has become a destination for Poles craving the prized treats of their memories. On weekends, shoppers from Connecticut, New Jersey and upstate New York descend on Greenpoint to stock up on Polish meats, breads and Wedel sweets.

Fans take pride in shorter expiration dates on Polish candies: signifying fewer preservatives, less sugar, they say, and richer flavor.

For shopper Grazyna Iwuc, 58, who works at an East Village delicatessen, the variety of decadent Polish candies available at Wedel is a stark contrast to the rare luxury of chocolate she remembers back home in Poland.

“When I was growing up, my family was poor and we didn’t have these things,” Iwuc said. She waited all year for Christmas and Easter when she’d get a chocolate bar as a gift. As an adult, she worked at a bank and wanted to give her children luxuries she didn’t have. On occasion, she brought home Wedel chocolates.

Under post-World War II Communism, famed Wedel, which was started in the mid-19th century by a man said to be the Polish Willy Wonka, was nationalized. The government added the date of the Communist Independence Day to the iconic label, founder Karol Ernest Wedel’s cursive signature.

In the1980s, the then-regime cracked down on freedoms and strictly rationed goods of all kinds, including chocolate.

“There was not enough anything. For meat, I was standing all night on line at the butcher to wait,” said Iwuc. “For a dishwasher, I waited on line – I switched off with another person every day – one and a half months. It was like everything fell from your hands.”

Iwuc still brought home candy by the confectionary for her children by bartering with neighbors or friends.

Others who frequent Slowdycze Wedel have similar memories.

“I’m not that old but people come here and talk about Communism and how they couldn’t get any of these things,” said Sabina Nowak from behind the counter. “This one” – she said pointing to a milk chocolate bar called “Jedyna,” the company’s original product – “people like. They say they remember getting it once a year.”

“After the broken years, everything came back and it was nice,” Iuwc added. “But I was so surprised they had everything here!”

Toronto-based Suzanne Urpecz blogged about her first bite a traditional Wedel favorite, Ptsie Mlezcko – “bird’s milk” in Polish – after she picked a box up at a European market in March (www.thehungariangirl.com).

“They actually melt in your mouth!” she recounted in an email. “I don’t think people who grew up eating Ptasie Mleczko would be interested in not having them again.”

Since then, the native-Hungarian has been hooked on the bite-sized rectangles of chocolate-covered marshmallows. “I think people will always cherish something they enjoyed in their childhood or past. It’s something to connect your present life with the past, especially if the foods remind us of special memories,” said Urpecz.

“Some would say it’s ignorance because we stick to our own,” said Nowak while ringing up a notebook-sized chocolate box decorated to look like a framed painting. “But chocolate is a nice gift, it’s not so expensive and for Polish people here it’s an important reminder of their background.”

She explained that for some customers, chocolate is not the only reason they come. “People just like to come here by themselves and ask me where I’m from and speak Polish. They’re working upstate or don’t have touch with the language. They just want to talk.”

Iwuc stood next to a wall of hanging bags of gummy, wafer and chocolate snacks. “Like everybody, we love our country and our food,” she said, “People feel like they’re home with stuff here. And in Poland we know good stuff.”

            Every year since the historic utterance in 1940, October 28^th has been celebrated as a national holiday in Greece, known as “Όχι (No)” Day, because of Prime Minister of Greece, Ioannis Metaxas’, brave response to the Italians.

In times of peace and tranquility, politics are discussed during the daytime in the offices of ambassadors, diplomats and heads of state. This time, in the midst of World War II, it was dark outside, a little after four o’clock in the morning. Suspension was in the air as neighbors treaded into a realm of unknown danger. The two politicians were sitting in a homely living room at the German embassy where a party was being held that night. They were about to determine the future of Greece and, unbeknownst to them, World War II. This is where Emanuele Grazzi, the Italian ambassador to Greece, presented Greece’s prime minister, Metaxas, with Mussolini’s ultimatum: either Greece allow Axis forces to enter the country and use it as a transit zone or face war. Metaxas must have been expecting the Italian proposal. He calmly answered with two simple phrases: “Όχι (No),” in Greek and “C’est la guerre (This is war),” in French. At 5:30 AM, Italian troops stationed in Albania attacked Greece’s border, marking the beginning of the Italian-Greco War (also known as “ο Πόλεμος του Σαράντα (the War of 40)”), which lasted until April 23, 1941.

            It is celebrated every year. Throughout Greece, schools, shops and businesses are closed, and homes and streets are adorned with Greek flags. There are parades in all the major cities, in which the military – tanks and all – and public school students march.

            “Ohi” Day is significant to Greeks because it exemplifies bravery on part of the Greek government and population by refusing to cower down and fall victim to fascist occupation and influence. Some historians and history teachers say “Ohi” Day shaped the future of Greece and World War II. The efforts of the Greeks began a domino effect that lead to the defeat of the Nazis in World War II. The act of saying “Ohi” allowed Greece to be inducted to the West and establish a stance of neutrality that would continue for decades to come on a number of different issues. After Metaxas’ famous “No,” Greece became a member of NATO and the world powers, United States and Great Britain in particular, paid more attention to the small Mediterranean country.   

Lately, the Greek Diaspora has been letting “Ohi” Day fall under the radar. In New York, schools like the Hellenic Classical Charter School in Brooklyn, the School of Transfiguration in Corona and the Cathedral School in Manhattan put on plays and presentations in celebration of “Ohi” Day. Canadian cities – especially in Vancouver and Langley – had more events to pick from than New York; church memorial services and luncheons were held in both cities, and there were guest speakers at Langley’s Simon Fraser University sponsored by the Greek Cultural Community of Langley. They still managed to fall short of previous years by being “low key,” as Greek-Canadian bloggers, Katerina and Dimitris Angelatos, put it.

            Stelios Vasilakis is a Greek who came to the United States in 1990. He co-owns and runs a Greek-American online publication, Greekworks (www.greekworks.com), which has never written about “Ohi” Day events happening in the United States. Vasilakis has said that since living in America, he has not celebrated “Ohi” Day like he used to in Greece.

            “It seems to me that although there must be ‘Ohi’ Day celebrations in private, Greek and parochial schools, in the United States much more attention is given to the 25^th of March (Greece’s Independence Day from Turkish occupation in 1821),” said Vasilakis with a hint of a Greek accent. “In terms of celebrating, there is the parade down 5^th Avenue [in Manhattan] for March 25^th, but nothing similar to that for ‘Ohi’ Day.”

            New York University senior Alexander Fotopoulos is okay with that. “Would I like to celebrate [“Ohi” Day]? Sure. Do I think there is a way to celebrate it here? No,” because of practical reasons like being granted permission by the city, said Fotopoulos. “We can’t have two parades down 5^th Avenue.” Fotopoulos, an American-born Greek, finds “Ohi” Day illustrative of Greek bravery because, “Sending the Italians all the way back to Italy through Albania was no small feat – remember the Greeks were a peasant army… We sacrificed ourselves, basically.”

             Margarita Gournaris, a teacher of World History for the International Baccalaureate program at the American Community Schools of Athens, teaches her high school students that the Greeks fighting on the Greek-Albanian border deserve the credit for weakening the Nazis enough to be defeated by the Allies.

            Says Gournaris: “Hitler sent troops to help Mussolini, in Greece. The Greeks fought hard…as a result the Nazis delayed their invasion of the USSR and by the time they got to Russia, winter was setting in. The Nazis weren’t prepared for winter. From then on it was downhill for the Nazis!” A large portion of the [German] army died in the trek across snowy, cold Russia.,” thus weakining the Nazi forces.While some post-war historians refer to this as a “myth,” it is taught throughout Greek public schools as well and sustained as historically accurate in Mark Mazower’s “Inside Hitler’s Greece: The Experience of Occupation, 1941-44.”

            To many, “Ohi” Day marks the beginning of modern Greece and indicative of “the little country that could.” No one expected the small country to stand up to fascism, and they definitely did not expect them to fight as hard or well as they did. As Churchill said after Greece lost a staggering 12% of its population in battle: “Today we shall say that the Greeks fight like heroes, but from now on we shall say that heroes fight like Greeks.”

Bibliography/Sources

Angelatos, Dimitris & Katerina; http://www.patrides.com/dec03/envanc1.htm

Fotopoulos, Alex

Gournaris, Margarita

Koliopoulos, J.S. and Thanos M. Veremis Greece: The Modern Sequel, 2004

Lalaki, Despina

Vasilakis, Stelios

What I learned: This piece didn’t end up how I’d originally intended. For starters, none of the Greek history professors at NYU could answer my questions because they specialized in Ancient or Byzantine history, a professor at Columbia who specializes in modern Greek history refused to answer my e-mails, and the former NYU professor I ended up interviewing didn’t give me anything regarding the history and because he has only been living in the United States for a little over a decade, he couldn’t give me any indication on what “Ohi” Day means to Greek-Americans and how they feel about how it is celebrated in the states. He did, however, mention that it is not celebrated in any way that resembles Greece, which I had observed on my own, but this allowed me to say it in my article through him instead of my own observations. The interview with the NYU senior was a complete fluke, but worked out perfectly! I honestly had no idea that Greek-Americans were okay with the fact that the day is not celebrated. Instead of focusing my piece on how the day is celebrated in American, I focused on how its is not celebrated here.

The crowd at Fort Greene

There was a poodle as the Mister Softee ice cream truck, a bulldog as fitness personality Richard Simmons and a collie dressed as Barbara Eden from “I Dream of Jeannie.” A terrier, who wore the dreaded post-op “cone of shame” around his head, was conveniently costumed as a clearance aisle camcorder.

“Look at all these people that have come out to humiliate their dogs!” the host Justine Keefe shouted at the audience and crowd of costumed competitors.

A record-breaking 85 contestants came out to compete at this Halloween’s 11^th Annual Great PUPkin Dog Costume Contest held at Fort Greene Park, Brooklyn.  Hundreds of spectators, both locals and tourists, laughed and cheered in awe over the colorfully costumed pooches.

Costumed pooches wait for their contestant number to be called.

The event was sponsored by the Fort Green Park Users and Pet Society (PUPS). Formed in 1999, the non-profit organization is a community of more than 400 responsible dog owners who use the park on a regular basis. The organization is dedicated to promoting responsible dog ownership and protecting the park’s environment. In the past, the Fort Greene PUPS has helped advocate for the citywide 9 PM-9AM off-leash courtesy rule and most recently lobbied for (and won) the installation of a dog-friendly water fountain in the park.

The event has helped build a strong, expanding community of dog owners Fort Greene.

“Each year it’s grown bigger than ever,” Keefe said. “This year it’s a huge turnout.”

“There’s some people who come to the park like once a year just to see this cause it’s so much fun,” said Keefe, who came from New Jersey for her sixth year hosting the event. “There’s other people that are here everyday. They’re day-in-day-out walking their dogs or here with their kids playing so it is a good community event.”

Emmett, the miniature pot-belled pig, as a Tijuana Zebra.

One local contestant, Kelli Miller, broke out of the canine norm with her miniature black pot-bellied pig, Emmett, who was finger painted with white zebra-stripes.

If grapes could walk, they’d be in the form of the mutt, Henry. He was quietly observing the crowd, seemingly indifferent to the large juicy cluster of 38 bright-green balloons velcroed to his furry body. Melissa Hetzner, his owner, had just inflated and attached the balloons to his dog vest that morning.

Henry, the mutt, as the "Fort Green Grapes."

“He doesn’t really like it,” she said while smiling down at Henry who was awkwardly trying to sit.

Shuggie as the "Original Hot Air Balloon."

Bobbing above the crowd of contestants was a large red and orange balloon, which was attached to last year’s winner, Shuggie, a Wire Fox Terrier, whose costume this year was a floating hot air balloon. The look was complete with aviator goggles, a brown wicker basket, and a working mini-light bulb used to imitate the flame that powers the balloon.

“Last year, we were the Fort Greene water fountain,” said owner Brice Rosenbloom. “A working one!”

Two owners, instead of dressing their dog, dressed themselves as their brown-and-white spaniel, wearing tight zip-up, hooded bodysuits and fluffy, floppy ears.

The costumed pooches seemed oblivious, but amongst their owners tension was building.as the judges deliberated. Finally, the contest winners were announced. Honorable mentions were awarded to Hetzner’s “Fort Greene Grapes” and Rosenbloom’s “The Original Balloon Dog.” Miller’s “Tijuana Zebra” and “I Dream of Jeannie” won Crowd Favorites.

Second place winner: "The Chinese Dragon Float"

Second prize was awarded to the camcorder terrier and third prize went to the “Chinese Dragon Float,” a black terrier poodle whose head seemed swallowed by the jaws of the enormous dragon. Finally, the first prize went to a family of “Japanese Monsters.”

The entire costume was a scene set up by the 3 members of the Mandell family: Baby Godzilla, Daddy Godzilla, and their dog, Punch, as the giant, flying paper-machied turtle Gamera. Together, they crushed the cardboard buildings of Tokyo.

“It’s really fun. She kind of likes the attention,” Dawn Madell, said of her Japanese monster pooch, who was busy getting his picture taken. Punch, a mutt who was found on the streets by the Madell family, is a veteran winner.

“Last year we weren’t at this [contest], but one year we won as an astronaut and other year as a flying monkey from Wizard of Oz,” Madell said.

The judges at the 11th Annual Fort Greene PUPkin Costume Contest.

With so many unique costumes, competition at the event was tough. Judge Michelle Lewis, who is the chef of ScooterFood, a nutritious dog food company, had to make some hard decisions.

“It’s very difficult because people are so creative and all the dogs are so cute,” Lewis said, “People take so much time to put work into their costumes and when the humans are part of it too, it’s even better.”

Lewis describes the first-place winning Madell family as a good example of what the judges were looking for: “They were crushing the buildings and the whole family was involved. It was definitely a handmade costume. What the judges usually look for is that it is handmade, not store-bought.”

Keefe agrees and relays some good advice for contestants next year: “A store-bought costume isn’t really going to get you a prize here…It’s got to be something really pretty spectacular like it is today.”

Before the turn of the millennium, LGBT students at NYU had plenty of resources to turn to. A large, well-established LGBT office. A location in one of the most diverse and progressive cities in the world. Hundreds of LGBT resources available within the school and in neighboring locations around Manhattan.

Yet, in 2000, the Liberal Studies Program (LSP) at the university, a two-year liberal arts program for students, still had no LGBT-specific courses. Though other colleges at NYU had classes devoted to various LGBT studies, students in LSP at the time had no opportunity to take a course that focused entirely on the gay community – a situation Professor Joseph Portanova felt he needed to change.

“There were a lot of courses on gender and [its connection to] WWII and totalitarianism but nothing specifically LGBT,” said Portanova. “I thought it was a gap that should be filled.”
That’s when Portanova came up with “Policing Same-Sex Desire,” a class that combines historical events with modern LGBT issues.

“We focus on the legal and social forms of persecution and policing both from outside and within the gay community,” said Portanova. “We start by talking about ancient world attitudes and then work our way up to more modern material.”

Though Portanova had previously studied and read works on the historical implications of the gay community, he decided to enlist his partner, an active scholar in gay studies, for help in developing the syllabus for the class. For reading material, they incorporated an excerpt from the transcript of the Oscar Wilde trial, a book entitled Outlaw Lesbian by Ruthann Robson and several works by sexologists.  The course also includes several memoirs, one that was written by a gay man who was in a concentration camp during in WWII.

“I try to keep a balance between gay and lesbian material in the course,” said Portanova.  “The class always ends up changing a little every semester just so I can incorporate more of what I feel is missing.”

A few years ago, Portanova began taking his class on a walking tour of Greenwich Village that illustrates sites connected with important aspects of LGBT history. The class looks at former gay bars and notable figure’s houses, such as Edna St. Vincent Millay, an American lyrical poet who was known for having relationships with both women and men. They also examine institutions that had major roles in the Stonewall demonstrations, an event that marked one of the first times the gay community stood up to the government by rioting against the police raids in gay bars.

“We look at things ranging from the [gay] artist Paul Cadmus’s house to the Stonewall Inn,” said Portanova. “It gives us a chance to look at the physical make-up of the gay riots …and how the layout of the Village aided it.”

In order to gain a more global perspective in the class, Portanova has also added background material on same-sex desire in Islam, ancient China and Japan.

According to him, most of the Western material available about homosexuality is “primarily geared towards Greece and Rome.” However, he says that Islam, China and Japan also have a good deal of material related to the role of homosexuality in their independent cultures and “lesbianism in particular.”

The class helped students, especially those with little prior knowledge of the subject matter, helped broaden their societal perspectives.

Sarah Buchanan, a sophomore in LSP, comes from a conservative Southern background and says that going into the class, she had very little information about the LGBT community.

“I’m from Nashville, Tennessee, where the whole stereotypical heterosexual family is very much the norm. However, at a school like NYU, in a city like New York, I have met so many people who don’t fit into that mold,” said Buchanan. “I signed up for a history class that focuses on sexuality and gender, so I saw potential for some overlap in an area I previously knew little about.”

Though Buchanan acknowledges that the course is “a lot of work,” she believes it has surpassed her initial expectations.
“I definitely feel like I went in to this class to have my perspective widened and it has been, hands down,” she said.

The class has even inspired Buchanan to think of ways in which she can continue her studies on the topic after the class is over: “I am now considering minoring in gender studies,” said Buchanan. “All the issues surrounding gay rights are so applicable at this exact moment. Just look at the legislation in front of Obama today.”

This relation to modern-day issues is what Portanova hopes to sustain in the class for future semesters.

“What I most want students to take from this is the sense that there are different type of policing and that it’s not all limited to government and police and law. It could include society itself and…community policing,” said Portanova. He believes that students should pay attention to the way that society can sometimes limit progress within the gay community, thereby policing them in a manner that is just as restrictive as governmental law.

“I want to make people aware of the effect societal policing can have,” he said, “Especially since it’s something that is so relevant today.”

Tawil (right) dances with Dance Elixir dancers at New York City's Alwan for the Arts

By Cristina Schreil

As Leyya Tawil tosses back her head of curls and stretches into a graceful arc, she casts a silhouette on the wall behind her. Grounding all of her weight on her left leg, she pulls her right leg off the dark hardwood floor and folds it into a precise right angle. Swirling around her like a human cyclone, three dancers leap and twirl to warm up.

As the setting sun paints the room with fire, the dancers pound the floor with their rhythms, while Tawil observes. Her advice seems nonsensical to the uneducated observer.

“Draw more of a squiggle, not a circle,” she says. The dancers seem to speak her language and gyrate their hips even more.

It was on a brisk October evening when Tawil, a San Francisco-based modern dancer and choreographer, performed in New York City with her contemporary dance troupe, Dance Elixir. The 11-person troupe, which will relocate to New York City in early 2010, recently performed at Manhattan’s Alwan for the Arts, a cultural center that features Arab-American performing and visual artists. Yet Tawil, who is Arab-American, insists that she puts her work as an artist before her Arab identity.

“People say, ‘We don’t see any Arab-ness in your work,’” says Tawil. “But there’s this idea that the work comes from me, and I am Arab. The representation is Arabic in and of itself.”

Tawil especially insists that as an Arab-American artist, she must show others how the Middle East generates a wealth of diverse—and modern—art forms, many of which are completely different from the traditional folk forms that outsiders have come to associate with Arab culture.

“We don’t just have a desert and terrorist icons,” said Tawil in a telephone interview. Although Tawil does not consciously market herself as an Arab-American artist, she still acknowledges the growing art movement in the Middle East — a movement, she said, that has not been fully recognized by the rest of the world. According to Tawil, few understand how progressive Middle Eastern culture is.

Friend Maysoun Freij, who earned her dissertation studying Arab-American artists in New York City, said this tendency to not buy into what audiences expect from Arab-American artists — like starting off performances with quotes from the Qur’an or dressing as belly dancers — is fairly common. “I feel she has a lot of integrity,” said Freij. “She doesn’t let identity politics overwhelm her work.”

Born in Detroit, Michigan to a Palestinian mother and a Syrian father, Tawil readily admits that dancing is in her blood as much as her heritage.

As a child growing up in Deerborn, a suburb of Detroit and home to one of the country’s most concentrated Arab-American communities, Tawil attended many Arab weddings, grand affairs that always, Tawil said, had dancing.

“We all love to dance,” she said as she spoke while visiting her parents, who live in a neighborhood Tawil fondly calls “The mini Middle East.”

Yet Tawil, whose immigrant worked for Ford for 33 years — a common path for Arabs of his generation, Tawil pointed out — said dancing was a private childhood activity. Never taking formal classes, Tawil said, “I always had my own thing going on. I was always dancing on my own, the earliest I can remember was when I was seven.”

At 15, Tawil entered a high school performing arts program and danced daily.

Tawil added that like many children of immigrants, she was expected to pursue a more practical engineering or medical degree. Shoving dance to the side, Tawil, a self-proclaimed “total math geek,” applied to the University of Michigan’s engineering program. “Mind you,” she said, “I was still making up dances in my dorm room.”

Tawil’s turning point came after a freak accident prohibited her from dancing at all. “I was like ‘Oh my God, I can’t dance!’ It was kind of life changing. During that month of recovery, I needed to dance,” she said.

After recovery, she switched gears and auditioned for the University’s dance conservatory, and abandoned engineering for fine arts. Her parents disliked her career change. “When you say dancer, they think Broadway,” Tawil said, then adding, “Over the last 15 years, they’ve learned a lot about what I do and are very supportive.”

Tawil fell in love with modern dance.

“Part of contemporary dance is that there’s real humans dancing,” she said, adding that genres like ballet, where dancers must act as “fantastical nymphs” onstage has no appeal to her.

Perhaps this is why Tawil, who realized even at a young age that traditional Arabic art forms like belly dancing was a take on an “Orientalist view of the culture,” strives for artistic realism. Her body and her art, not her heritage, is the main spectacle.

After graduating, Tawil moved to the San Francisco Bay Area to study choreography at Mills College in Oakland, and start Dance Elixir, in 2003. Since then, Tawil has also toured in Beirut, Lebanon.

Wherever she goes, her artistic mission dominates all: finding new ways to reinvent dance — to “push the form forward,” she says. One way she does this is through improvisation, where she discovers new breathing techniques and movements, like timing abrupt, forceful exhales with dramatic sweeps of her arm. “It’s risky, but when it goes well, it goes really well,” she said. “It’s kind of a magical thing.”

Ironically, her mission to put her work before her heritage is a mission within itself.

“There’s got to be new identifications of what the Arab world can offer in terms of contemporary art, fashion and thinking,” she insisted. “There’s really progressive things going on and it’s not in the forefront.” She took a breath. “I want to depict what’s really going on,” she said. “In Arab minds today.”