#Small Business Accounting Services in New York

[finalertnet]

[centelliltd]

The importance of Bookkeeping Services in New York

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[beansricejc]

JOHN WICK X READER: The Courier

part one (part 2!)

authors note: this is my first drabble on tumblr, I do plan on making these into a small series! please lmk your thoughts if you’d like! thx 💕

summary: you are an up and coming courier for organized criminals. you bump into buzzed and confident John at a cocktail party while you’re in the middle of work, but you let him know you don’t have time for his games.

warnings: NSFW blurb, alcohol, cursing, motorcycles?

John wasn’t one for parties. Well, he pretended that he wasn’t one for parties. It’s part of the image, the gruff and tough hitman, best in the world. He had a reputation to uphold.

But he wouldn’t deny a good drink and some conversation every once in a while.

The bar and lounge area in the Continental was quite, well, bustling. Filled with assassins, crime lords, you name it. If they were someone in the criminal underworld in NYC, they were here tonight. John could feel the tension between gangs in the air, the rules of the hotel hung above everyone’s head.

No business conducted on hotel grounds.

Of course, no one dared to break that rule.

Here was John, in a congregation of hitmen that he has known over the past several decades. Chatting it up with booze in hand, and on their breath. Some would call them OGs. In the game long enough for people in the industry to know not to fuck with them. Especially John. These old dogs didn’t need new tricks, in fact, all of them had body counts that combined, would make the High Table shudder.

But of course, what comes up, eventually must come down. They were aging men. As early as their late 30s, and as late as their mid 50s. There was fresh meat lurking on the sidelines, waiting for their chance to be in the spotlight.

And that’s were she comes in.

Y/N.

New to the game. Well, fairly new. She wasn’t an expert, however, she was very good at what she did. Was she a killer for hire? Not exactly. Y/N had created an industry no one in the underworld knew was needed. In fact, it was very convenient.

An anonymous courier business.

You need to send over files but the Feds are on your ass and probably have acess to your fax machine? Call Y/N. She’ll be at your door in 20 minutes to drive across the city to deliver it for you. You forget it’s your wife’s birthday because you were too busy pile driving your side piece to remember? Y/N will pick up something for her at Target and get it to your door in an hour.

You get the idea.

Have a hard drive of the password to a Bitcoin account that’s worth 5 million dollars? Y/N will bring it to whoever needs it in the city, on her modified motorcycle, gun on hip and helmet on head, safe and sound. She had a perfect track record of delivering things for crime syndicates around New York City for the past year and a half.

Enemies? Not for Y/N. Every criminal group used her services. So much in fact, she had even hired a small team. She was growing. Slowly. But growing.

It wouldn’t take long for John to notice Y/N. In fact, he would take notice in a few moments, right after he took a large sip of his bourbon that he just had to have tonight. John was chuckling amongst colleagues, as he noticed Y/N walk into the lounge, seemingly with work on her mind. Her helmet was still on her head, and she wore a form fitting protective biker suit that matched everything she wore.

Black.

John frowned in confusion. He’s never seen anyone wear full motorcycle gear into the hotel before, much less one that was sort of crashing a party.

Y/N walked quickly, right up to the man himself, Winston. She wasted no time, unzipping her well organized backpack and handing Winston a protected manilla envelope, with god knows what inside. The elderly man smiled kindly at the helmeted woman, quickly signing some sort of touch screen device with his finger, before she efficiently put her bag back on over her shoulder, and began to walk away.

John raised his eyebrows at the sight. Who was that? He couldn’t help but form a soft but playful grin as his eyes danced around her figure that was covered by that riding suit.

“Any of you recognize that one?” John blurted during a discussion his friends were having. The men turned their heads towards Y/N, all chuckling softly.

“Yeah, Y/N. She works this delivery service for people like us in the city. Super under the table type stuff. You seriously haven’t heard of her?” Marcus asked, as John shook his head.

“No. I’m not familiar.” John huffed out. John was a curious man, and he just had to know more. So, enticed by this mystery woman, he wriggled through the thick crowd of guests to catch up to her. Before she could make it any closer to the door, John gave her a light tap on the shoulder. The woman jumped a bit, before turning around.

There he was. The man. The myth. The legend. John fucking Wick. Y/N almost froze in fear at the mere sight of the man who towered over her. She had to swallow the lump that formed in her throat.

John stared down at her, trying his best to look through the blacked out facial shield on her biker helmet. He was just itching to know what she looked like. Guess he’d do it himself. He was a man of little words after all. What was she going to do, fight him?

John took his large hands and placed them on her helmet, applying pressure and lifting it up and off of her head.

“H-hey! What the hell?” Y/N stuttered out, as John took a moment to study her delicate features.

Wow, she’s fairly easy on the eyes. John thought to himself as his eyes trailed all over her face. With nice cheekbones and gorgeous eyes, anyone who had sight could tell that this was a woman you could never forget. An impish smile curled onto the man’s lips, his very well maintained black beard framing his mouth to perfection. Y/N unintentionally took in his scent of patchouli and tobacco. Of course she could also smell the whiskey on his breath but that went without saying.

“Well, aren’t you just a pretty thing?” John hummed out softly at the young woman, as she grabbed her helmet and plucked it with force from his grip. It was clear that this infamous hitman had a few bourbons to drink already tonight, and he didn’t mind finding a pretty woman to take up to a hotel room after a few more.

Y/N grumbled as John bit his tongue to force himself not to say anything else in this moment.

I’ve only heard stories about this guy, scary ass stories. What a pain in my ass. Better deal with him so I don’t make an enemy.

John was maybe a decade or two older than her. Jesus christ. Y/N had daddy issues but this would be a whole other level if she decided to even pursue something like John.

“Sorry. I gotta go, still working.” Y/N spoke to him as professionally as possible. John displayed a perky smile on his face, his eyes racing with attraction.

Just look at her. I’d be crazy if I didn’t shoot my shot.

“You can’t do just one drink with me? I’m sure your client would understand if they knew who you were with.” John offered, gesturing towards the hotel lounge full of people.

Y/N laughed nervously, her heart racing at the mere sight of this man. The way this older man with obvious charisma was certainly getting to her.

And here John was, thinking about how pretty Y/N’s lips would look wrapped around his hard cock. Her head bobbing as he used his large strong hands to grab a fistful of hair, making her take him deeper into her throat each time. Maybe she’d gag and plead with him to be gentle. Maybe she’d be a total pro at it. Maybe a mix of both. With tears in her eyes as she whimpers in pain, while her legs trembled for John to make his way over to spread them apart for the real fun.

“I’m really sorry, I just have a few jobs-”

John’s long pointer finger swooped under her soft chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. Y/N had no idea what to do, there has never been a man this forward towards her in her life. Just the thought of John’s touch alone made hundreds of women wet with excitement. Y/N knew she shouldn’t be one of them, it wasn’t smart mixing work and love.

As they say, don’t shit where you eat.

John could sense tension striking the area where they stood. Right now, there was nobody else in the room besides for this woman. He took her as a challenge, new blood. Young, pretty, and probably naive, right? Someone he could have a bit of fun with upstairs after he bought her a few drinks.

If John were sober right now, he would have probably said ‘goodbye’ in a polite and formal way, smiling as she left the building. John with some liquor in him though, was a completely different man. The rumors people spoke in the criminal underworld were true, this man though and though, was a total playboy.

So of course, when a new and unfamiliar pretty face in town crossed his path, he just had to have her. At least for the night. He was especially curious about what she had underneath that form fitting riding suit, not that it left too much up to the imagination.

Y/N cleared her throat.

“Right, uh, I’m gonna, uh, go.” Y/N mumbled, pulling away from John’s electrifying touch, taking a subtle deep breath. John blinked his brown eyes of his a few times, almost lost in his train of thought in the few moments that he had her in his gentle but firm grasp.

Before he knew it, she was hurrying out of the hotel doors. Y/N didn’t think twice to get out of that awkward/terrifying/intimate situation. So many emotions were flowing through her at once, her heart beating at about a mile a minute. It didn’t take long for her to climb onto her motorcycle, start it up, and peel off down the busy street, away from that god forsaken hotel.

And then there was John. Shocked, stunned even. A woman who didn’t immediately jump at the chance to have drinks with him? Unbelievable.

He could hear his group of fellow middle aged hitmen snicker at his failed attempt at picking up the woman, and all he could do was clench his jaw, and walk back to the bar.

They’d meet again. Of course. It would take some time, John was a patient man, and Y/N was a working woman. Their paths would eventually cross again, especially in the industry they were involved in.

And maybe, just maybe, John could have his chance with Y/N, and actually convince her to have that drink with him.

Even if it was just for some fun.

[sepptember]

there's a post about Pro-Palestine small businesses on instagram by @.counseling4allseasons and i wanted to share that post here.

mentioning businesses that aren't on this post are encouraged!! I'll reblog them to my account or add them to the post. If any of the links don’t work, please let me know.

note that all of the businesses in the insta post might not be included because I struggled to find the link, and some links may lead to an instagram account instead of a website.

Apparel:

Chérine Caftans - Moroccan traditional wear

Hirbawi - Kufiya factory in Palestine

HULM Kicks - Palestinian-owned shoe store

Watan Worldwide - Cultural clothing/merchandise store

Ayan Resources - Palestinian-owned clothing brand

herababyco - Baby clothes

Modestveencouture - Palestinian-owned boutique with wedding, prom, and engagement dresses

Zaytoonas Stitches - Palestinian-owned embroidery store

Dignitii - modest active wear

Nöl Collective - Palestinian-owned traditional wear

RUUQ - Hijab body suits

Dar Collective - Cultural merchandise

Shopdehma - Modest clothing brand

Nayabhijabs - Hijabs

House of amiri - Children's clothing

this business is currently not stocking their inventory because they are working on broadening their brand. support by following them is still highly encouraged.

Yemen Wear - cultural Yemen apparel

Pali Power - Palestinian athletic apparel

Le dressing de moon - Palestinian thobes

La Farrah Boutique - Palestinian thobes

Skincare/Makeup/Fragrances:

Farsalicare - Skincare brand

Yaskinnatural - Skincare brand

Dyfbeauty - Makeup brushes

Mora Cosmetics - Muslim-owned clean makeup

Kadi perfumes - high-quality perfumes and fragrances

Alwafa Shop - Natural skincare

Abumiskperfumes - oil-based fragrances

Dr. Sebaa Co. - Muslim-owned skincare brand

Savana Goat - Natural and artisanal goat soaps

Lerenu - Scalp & haircare

Inika Organics - Organic makeup

Tuesday in Love - Wudhu-friendly nail polish

Home Goods:

Inspire me home decor - Interior design/home decor

The Little Bulbul - Islamic puzzles/mugs/prints

Olive & Heart - Palestinian owned candle shop

Candlescape & Co. - Palestinian owned candle shop

Create & Crescent - event kits and crafts

Kilim Design Store - carpet and flooring.

With a Spin - Home decor

Lifestyle:

Feyre Creations - events merchandise

Khair Designs - Interior design

Soul Detox - Palestinian-owned black seed oil mix and health capsules

Sophologynic - Palestinian-owned wellness-kits and organic honey

Creations By Sal - Custom wedding products and gifts

Crescent Moon Bookstore - Palestinian-owned children’s bookstore

Little Muslim Craft Store - Crafts for Muslim children store

Modefa - Home decor

Sitti soap - Natural soaps and more.

Vidamin Wellness - Organic vitamins

Mysalah Mat - Interactive prayer mat

The Happy Bakers - Egyptian-owned cookies

Little Busy Hands - Customized themed sensory bins

Shahrin Azim Henna & Jagua Artist - Henna Services, New York/NJ

Accessories:

Oroboros Watches - Egyptian-owned watch store

Kiro - Egyptian Jewelry Brand

Elegant Bijoux Jewelry - Lebanese-owned jewelry

Canava Handmade - Luxury Arab handbags States NYC

Deeya Jewellery - Luxury gold plated bridal/formal jewelry

[ramblings-from-the-ether]

Prohibition AU: The Family

The Outer Circle

These members have a limited amount of knowledge into the scale or even the degree-of-illegality of Naven's empire (Bliss Ocean).

Molly Blyndeff, trudging through hard times with an uncaring family, Ms Blyndeff has been quietly emancipated in exchange for her eyes, ears, and unassuming demeanor. A little spy in short.

Trixie Roughhouse, a close friend of Molly's with a fascination with concoctions. Upon introduction, they were assigned to be apprenticed in moonshining at one of Naven's underground distilleries, though they personally prefer experimenting for unknown product.

Phoenica Fleecity, another friend of Molly's. She isn't of much use in criminal activities (also the least informed of Naven's doings), but her generous allowance does help grease the financial side of activities she has no business knowing about.

Howie Honeyglow, an engineer and construction contact of Naven's. He provides maintenance and solves any lack of facilities for 'business activities', by building them up in record time with little excess charges.

Giovanni Potage, leader of a band of misfits who broke off from another street gang; now in Naven's employ. As mentioned in a previous post, he provides the majority of grunt work in Sweet Jazz City for Bliss Ocean. His talent lies in his rousing leadership which keeps morale steady no matter the branch, much to Naven's surprise. Hosts weekly hotpot nights for his brothers (in-arms).

Percival King, the officer who chose peace. She sees Naven as a major businessman with some connections to the criminal underworld; thus a deal was struck where Percy cooperates with Naven in removing the violence on the streets (and kills off competition) while Percy avoids further investigating Naven's influence that made the deal possible.

Indus Tarbella. Formerly Mera's self-declared servant and bodyguard, he now provides security and butler-like services in extension to Naven as a means to remain close to Mera.

The Inner Circle

Everyone here has blood on their hands. These are the men and women who initiates and executes the family's plans. Aka Bliss Ocean Proper.

Zora Salazar: former bounty hunter, gunsmith, and living action film 'protagonist'. Once carried out a hit halfway across the country within a single day by jumping off a wing of a plane midair onto a passing train to cut time. She usually works alone over larger distances outside of Sweet Jazz City.

Mera Salamin, the main (once) licensed surgeon and occasional strategist. She was out of a career after leaving glass shards in a patient and former co-worker who allegedly harassed her. But her swift manner of action caught Naven's attention, and she refuses to play on the sidelines this time.

Ramsey Murdoch is the accountant and financial advisor, mainly for Naven's legitimate ventures but also reaffirms good and competitive business sense for an empire balancing its legal and illegal standings. Whilst Naven is a great dealmaker, Ramsey makes those bigger deals possible.

The Driver is Naven's eyes on the city, as well as his personal companion. Always (seemingly) a different person to outsiders, some speculate that Naven has Sweet Jazz City's private chauffeurs under his patronage. Though in reality, Yoomtah Zing is a master of disguise and has a more hands-on role in managing Naven's criminal operations alongside Mera.

Naven Nuknuk, former arms dealer to the IRA and the man who came from selling apples to apple cider. He is just a small fish in comparison to the big bosses in New York or Chicago, no need to pay heed to him! (The FBI certainly doesn't anymore)

[freehawaii]

KE AUPUNI UPDATE - SEPTEMBER 2024

The Queen Never Abdicated September is Hawaiian History month. The article in the April 27, 2024 Ke Aupuni Update was titled: “The Queen Never Surrendered”. This one is about the so-called “abdication” of Queen Liliuʻokalani. It is true, sort of… Here’s a brief recap of events leading up to the so-called abdication.

On January 17, 1893 with a company of armed US Marines backing them, white insurgents seize control of the government.

On December 18, 1893 President Cleveland denounces the actions of the insurgents, and calls for the reinstatement of Queen Liliuʻokalani and the lawful government of the Hawaiian Kingdom.

The insurgents respond by telling the US to mind its own business, then on July 4, 1894, proclaim the Hawaiian Kingdom was now the Republic of Hawaii.

From January 6-9, 1895, Hawaiian Patriots fail in an armed uprising to overthrow the “Republic” and restore Liliuʻokalani to the throne.

The leaders of the “rebellion” are captured, tried for treason and sentenced to death. January 16, 1895, Queen Liliuʻokalani was arrested, confined to a room at Iolani Palace and, on February 8, 1895, tried for treason against the Republic. On January 24, 1895, while under house arrest, representatives of the Republic presented Liliuʻokalani with a letter of abdication for her to sign. They made it clear to her that if she did not sign, the leaders of the “rebellion” would be executed.   Under those conditions, to save the lives of her dear followers and friends, she signed the document of abdication. The Republic then announced to the world that the Queen had abdicated and used it to fortify their claim of legitimacy. Countries with treaties with the Hawaiian Kingdom, shifted to dealing with the Republic of Hawaii and business went on as usual.   But did the Queen abdicate? Actually, no… for several reasons. First, a document signed under coercion and duress is invalid. Second, what she signed, was not her name. She signed, Lili’uokalani Dominis, a name she had never used before or since; nor was it her official name as the monarch of the Hawaiian Kingdom. Third, in her autobiography, and in many other instances, she completely repudiated that “letter of abdication”. Fourth, the Queen worked tirelessly in the years immediately following that “abdication” to have the Hawaiian Kingdom government and herself as the sovereign, restored as an independent nation. Words have been used to distort, embed and promote the false narratives in the telling of our story. It is up to us to set the record straight for us and for others who need to know the truth.

“Love of country is deep-seated in the breast of every Hawaiian, whatever his station.” — Queen Liliʻuokalani ---------- Ua mau ke ea o ka ʻāina i ka pono. The sovereignty of the land is perpetuated in righteousness. ------ For the latest news and developments about our progress at the United Nations in both New York and Geneva, tune in to Free Hawaii News at 6 PM the first Friday of each month on ʻŌlelo Television, Channel 53. ------ "And remember, for the latest updates and information about the Hawaiian Kingdom check out the twice-a-month Ke Aupuni Updates published online on Facebook and other social media." PLEASE KŌKUA… Your kōkua, large or small, is vital to this effort... To contribute, go to:   • GoFundMe – CAMPAIGN TO FREE HAWAII • PayPal – use account email: info@HawaiianKingdom.net • Other – To contribute in other ways (airline miles, travel vouchers, volunteer services, etc...) email us at: info@HawaiianKingdom.net All proceeds are used to help the cause. MAHALO! Malama Pono,

Leon Siu

Hawaiian National

[adriperez]

[ Alexxis Lemire. cis woman, she/her ] — whoa! Adriana Castillo Pérez just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 6 YEARS, working ODD JOBS / as a MUSICIAN . that can’t be easy, especially at only 25. some people say they can be a little bit IMPULSIVE and DECEPTIVE, but i know them to be WELL-MEANING and HELLA DOPE. whatever. i guess i’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to STATEN ISLAND! 

About | Connections

[THE BASICS]

Name: Adriana Castillo Pérez Nicknames: Adri Age / Birthday: 25 / August 2, 1999 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman - She/Her Ethnicity: Boriqua Sexuality: sure Relationship Status: Single, not looking to mingle like that. Hometown: LA, CA Current Residence: Staten Island, NY Occupation: Trust-fund baby / Musician [Keyboard/vocals]

[BIO]

• During her formative years, the most popular comment Adriana received was ‘thank god you’re pretty.’

• Born into a family of multi-generational wealth, it was expected of her to continue her family’s legacy in the great wide net of business ventures they were entangled in.

• However, in order for that to happen 1) Adri would actually need to care and 2) she’d need to get through school first. School was never an environment that Adri was able to thrive in; her brain just didn’t work that way. Did she fall asleep in class on more than one occasion because of her nocturnal tendency to stay up way too late tinkering with her keyboard? … Actually let’s not finish that thought. Regardless, it didn’t mean she wasn’t smart.

• At nearly nineteen, Adriana ended up selling most of her things and moving across the country with a stacked bank account and no plan. Fate or something had a plan apparently though, because not only did she stumble upon a band's tryouts, but she booked it and has been living with this small group of misfits ever since.

• Adri has kept the fact she comes from money to herself. Ever since living in New York she’s bounced from the usual customer service and freelance jobs, but she’s also quietly paid off the difference in rent increases and bs fines and booking fees behind her roommates’ backs. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?

[threadandlace]

Seamstress for the Band- Seamstress for the Band series, part one (4.0k)- REPOST

After being a complete idiot and deleting the ENTIRETY of my account (not just my secondary blog), I am back at ground zero. So, here is Seamstress once again!

Writer’s note: Before Sacred the Thread, Starcatcher, even my own DIG concerts, I heard Tiny Dancer by Elton John and decided to focus on what I really loved about Greta Van Fleet- their stage costumes in all their glory and the stories behind them. This story has been a labor of love over the past six months and I’m really excited to share it. I’ll warn you that this is a behemoth of a story, with 15 parts and set to be released on Tuesdays and Saturdays. And a reminder- it’s fiction, take it all with a grain of salt! Enjoy!

“Listen, I think this is going to be a really good gig for you. Plus, they specifically requested you to come along. And it’s going to pay well! I really don’t get why you aren’t more excited.”

You glanced up from the wine you were swirling in your glass. Your eyes fell on your best friend, Jen, who sat perched on the dark green velvet couch. She looked especially bird-like today, wearing some sort of feather-covered coat that hung loosely on her sharp frame. You shook your head as you took her words into consideration. “Jen, I’ve never traveled with a band. Made adjustments on the fly, changed outfits last minute on the road. I really think this is more of a challenge than I’m up for.” 

She took a deep sip of her wine, sliding down into the couch and leaning her head back as she considered her response. Not only was Jen your best friend, she was also your business partner. You’d gone to the Fashion Institute of Technology together, living and exploring New York side by side while perfecting your craft. Jen had a keen eye for patterns and colors, you for silhouettes and shapes. Together you were unstoppable in the fashion world, although you were both new to the professional scene. You’d both moved to Nashville shortly after graduating, opting for a tiny 2-bedroom apartment with smoke damage, a non-refundable down-payment, and a suspicious tenant across the hall for a chance to make it. 

Now, 2 years later, you were seated across from each other in the small warehouse you were able to find and put a deposit on. It was an older building, but spacious, and the light was good. You’d dug into your fascination with architecture and had worked to create the perfect space for the two of you to live and work. The main floor was what you’d typically expect of an industrial design space- concrete floors, large workbenches with room to draft, open space with tall walls covered in fabrics and trimmings all painstakingly organized and categorized. Against the far wall, you had a sitting area that doubled as your living room. Through a large archway was the kitchen, which had more of a home-y feel to it. A spiral staircase was erected beside the arch, leading from the main floor to the second which contained your respective rooms and bathrooms laid out along a platform. You had both worked hard to get to this point- countless hours of working multiple jobs, spending your regular 9-5 life in the service industry (Jen at a local coffee shop, you at a craft store) before coming home and spending your 5-9 working on elaborate costumes and clothing designs. You had gained traction by reaching out to local bands and assisting with festivals, working to get your name and portfolio out. Jen had taken to high fashion, aspiring for the runway while you worked on making costumes that told a story as rich as the music being played by those wearing your designs.

“Look,” Jen continued, snapping you out of your walk down memory lane. “You guys have all worked together well so far, and they’re so hands-on. It’ll be a piece of cake. You can absolutely do this, stop over-thinking.” She stood up from her spot on the couch, peeling her feathery coat off and dropping it onto the couch behind her. “Enough of your anxiety. I’m going to bed and you better be ready for me to drop you off at the pickup point tomorrow morning,” Jen said, bending to give you a quick peck on your cheek. You watched her sashay up the stairs and down the runway, throwing you one last theatrical kiss before disappearing behind the stained glass door of her bedroom. 

You chuckled to yourself as you rose from your position seated on a plush purple loveseat. You took the last few sips of your wine as you surveyed the racks of clothing against the wall. You’d worked tirelessly on the first pieces for the band you were working with on their upcoming tour. They’d released their fourth studio album a few months earlier and were hitting the road again after a well-deserved hiatus. They’d approached you after the band’s singer had seen some of your work at a local bar, where the lead singer for a C-list band had worn your jumpsuit. It had been elaborate and flashy, exactly what the frontman, Josh, had been looking for. You chuckled to yourself as you ran your hand over his newest costume- a black jumpsuit with a deep, curved neckline and green crystals strategically placed all over. The suit was heavy- you’d used actual crystals that the two of you had picked out at a local shop and painstakingly sourced. This group was big on sourcing ethically and making unique items that told a story, something you resonated with deeply.

You gaze shifted to the other sets of clothes, all neatly labeled and hung on the rack. The tour had an overarching theme, all of it loosely connected to the tone from their newest album. The previous album and tour had a more dreamy, psychedelic vibe that was full of shades of silver and white. The new album and tour was more established in the folk genre as they went back to their roots, focusing on acoustic sound and continuing with a mystical rock feel. All of the outfits needed to be consistent with both the new tour and album, but also cohesive with the old album and tour. You’d worked closely with the group’s past designers, making sure you fully understood their thoughts behind each design and had their blessing to use variations for your creations. 

You ran your hand along the drummer, Danny’s, top for the opening set. It was a semi-sheer blouse with intricate silver designs with both lace and beading work. You picked at a loose thread, a twinge of panic shooting through your stomach as you realized there was a slight error with the lace on a corner of the sleeve. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, taking a deep breath before dropping the sleeve and turning on your heel and heading into the kitchen. You placed your wine glass into the sink, placing your palms onto the cool surface of the granite countertop. You took another deep breath and reminded yourself that you’d have to do a lot of last minute fixes tomorrow- clothes always had issues after being transported. You’d fix the issue then, no big deal. You worked your way up to your room, forcing yourself to ignore the clothes on the rack, suddenly screaming at you with glaring imperfections. 

_________________________________________

“Bitch, you better be awake!” You jerked awake at the sound of Jen’s voice, shrill and threatening as she yelled from outside your door. You grabbed for your phone, checking the time. “Oh shit!” you moaned as you rolled out of bed, the sheets still tangled around you. You had 10 minutes before you needed to leave in order to make it to the pickup point on time. You ran into your bathroom, glancing at yourself in the mirror as you squirted some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and popped it into your mouth. You leaned forward, doing a double take. You looked rough. Really rough. You hadn’t drank much the night before, but it was enough to leave your skin slightly blotchy and your eyes bloodshot with leftover mascara crusted on your lids. The redness was likely a direct result of staying up way too early into the morning, researching everything you could about the four men you’d be working for. 

“Fucking shit,” you whispered to yourself as you went through the motions of making yourself more presentable- brushing your teeth, running a brush quickly through your hair and scrubbing off yesterday’s makeup. You threw your pajamas into the hamper before sliding on the outfit you’d (luckily) picked out the afternoon before- a pair of loose, straight leg copper-colored pants that you paired with a black crop top and your favorite jean jacket. The jacket had been a labor of love and was covered in various patches and buttons from places you’d been with an intricate embroidered design on the back. It had been with you since you’d graduated high school and you’d slowly added more to it over the years, each stitch symbolic. You twisted your hair into a claw clip and quickly put on a few coats of mascara and deodorant before grabbing your worn, checkered vans, making a choice for comfort over style. 

You chucked your remaining toiletries into the open bag on your counter and shoved it into your suitcase before zipping it closed. You’d luckily always been good at packing and did so well in advance. You were especially pleased with this habit considering you were rolling your suitcase to the stairs with just minutes to spare before you had to leave. 

“Morning babes,” Jen said as she pressed your favorite travel mug into your hand and grabbed the last of your equipment from beside the front door. Jen was a morning person, and as much as it could drive you crazy, it was times like these where you thanked the universe for leading you to each other. You took a quick sip of the coffee she’d made, taking a moment to savor the taste. You knew it’d be a while before you’d be able to have another one of Jen’s perfectly crafted coffees. 

You let the wave of sadness wash over you as you watched Jen carefully load your supplies into the trunk of her Wrangler. She looked up and caught your eye, motioning for you. “Get out here and put your suitcase in! We need to go!” she said, hurrying towards you. You laughed as she dragged you out of the door, turning to quickly lock it behind you as you rolled out your suitcase. You hopped in the front seat, nearly squishing the breakfast sandwich she’d made for you that was sitting on the front seat, wrapped neatly in a paper towel. You looked down at the sandwich teary-eyed as she joined you in the front, clicking her seatbelt on with one swift motion. “Are you gonna eat that or get all sappy on me?” she said, jabbing you in the ribs with her pointy elbow as she started the car. You let out a chuckle and shook your head, “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re incredibly overbearing, but I love you so bad.” She gave you her signature megawatt smile and chuckled, “you’ll be home for a break in like, two weeks. That’s nothing. And I’ll call you all day every day.” She paused as she put the car into reverse. “Besides,” she continued, turning to check the road behind you, “you’re gonna need to talk to me all the time. For ideas.” You both laughed as she headed towards the pickup point. 

Jen pulled her car into the lot which was empty except for three large tour buses, a handful of vans and a few cars. You watched as people worked quickly to move luggage to and from the various vehicles. Jen pulled up to a woman holding a clipboard and rolled her window down. “Hey, we are with wardrobe, where should we go to load stuff?” Jen asked, gesturing to the stuff in the back of the car. The woman leaned down and smiled at you. “Oh, hey Emily! Good morning!” you said, recognizing her as the women that was almost single-handedly running this entire production. Emily turned and gestured to the middle bus, “that will be your workshop. I’ll send a couple of guys to help you unload.” You and Jen nodded and thanked Emily before Jen pulled around to park beside the bus. You grabbed your backpack and slung it across your shoulder before reaching back into the car to grab your coffee. “Let’s see what we are working with before we unload,” you said to Jen, gesturing to the bus. You both walked over to the door, which slid open with a pneumatic hiss. 

“Good morning ladies!” An older gentleman wearing a ball cap with bushy white hair poking out leaned down to greet you. He stuck out his hand as you climbed the stairs onto the bus and shook your hand, “I’m Albert! I’ll be your driver for the tour, God willing!” You introduced yourself and Jen, noting that only you’d be staying on. Albert nodded, and pointed towards the back of the bus, “y’all go check it out. They really put together quite a space for you.” 

You were shocked when you walked into the middle portion of the bus. There were benches under the windows on either side of the bus and the middle of the bus held a large, blank table. Towards the back of the bus was a desk with sewing and embroidery machines and shelves with all the tools you could possibly need. You ran your hand over the supplies, noting how they’d taken your suggestions for what you’d need for a mobile studio and exceeding your every expectation. On the wall behind the desk there was a large cork board covered in push pins, ready to be used. There was a small bathroom and across from it there was a large, open wardrobe area with slots for shoes under a large, empty rack. On the back wall and behind a curtain, there were two twin bunks. You set your backpack down on the bottom bunk before turning to Jen. 

Both you and Jen were in awe at the space. They’d thought of everything and the workspace felt huge, despite being enclosed in a bus. “This is gonna be a great gig,” Jen said, motioning to the space. You nodded, the excitement and astonishment rendering you speechless. 

“So, what do you think? Will this do for our seamstress?” You and Jen both jumped before turning around. The band’s frontman, Josh, was leaning against the wall in the hallway, his younger brother Sam standing behind him, inspecting the temperature gauge. You smiled warmly and nodded, suddenly shy. Jen sensed your awkwardness and rushed forward to introduce herself. 

“I’m Jen, I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m her other half, but the high fashion side,” Jen said, shaking Josh and Sam’s hands. “I’m Josh, and this is my little brother Sammy,” Josh said, giving her hand a squeeze before nudging Sam forward to do the same. “Oh, I definitely know who you guys are. You-” Jen paused and gestured to Josh, “have come a long way fashion-wise. I’d love to talk to whoever styled you in the early days. They need some serious help.” Josh laughed deeply before shaking his head, “Well, our grandma helped us originally, and we picked out a lot of our outfits, but I whole-heartedly agree.” Jen nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder “the open vests were a look though. And the low cut jeans.” Jen turned to look at you “you guys should bring back those jeans. The fans would get a kick out of that.” You all laughed at the thought. You shook your head, “no jeans this tour, but we are changing it up a little bit. You’ve seen the sketches though so you should know, Jen.” “The sketches! We need to get all your crap before Albert takes off to-” Jen paused for a moment, thinking, “wherever the fuck you guys are headed.” “Michigan,” Sam said with a smile. “That’s where we are from so we like to start out up there for a few shows.” You and Jen nodded. “I love that,” you finally said, giving the two men a smile. Josh motioned behind him towards the front of the bus and you nodded again, the four of you turning to head outside. 

Albert was sitting in the driver’s seat reading a book when you made it back to the front of the bus. He stood and placed the book on the dashboard before opening the door of the bus. The five of you stepped down onto the asphalt and headed to the back of Jen’s Jeep. “I didn’t think the talent typically helped load,” you said as you opened the trunk. “Well, all of our people are busy moving our stuff, so we can help. Nothing else to do,” Josh said with a smile. Sam, Josh and Albert listened to you and Jen explain where things needed to go in the bus, the three men nodding occasionally in response. 

You stepped to open the door to the backseat to get the garments that were hung. Sam stood behind you and reached out to help carry some of the clothes, taking care to hold onto the hangers carefully and not rustle the outfits too much. You turned to grab the last set and felt a strong hand rest on your shoulder. You turned and looked up to see Danny, the drummer, smiling at you with his hand out, ready to take the clothes from you. “Good to see you! Welcome aboard!” he smiled at you as you handed him the clothing, his eyes crinkling slightly. You watched as he walked towards the bus, his curls bouncing slightly as he walked. Jen slid in next to you before whispering, “he sure is handsome.” You laughed and turned to her. “You haven’t met Jake yet. He’s the crowd favorite.” 

As if on cue, Jake walked up from the other side of the car. “You called?” he said, giving you both a sly grin. You felt your face turn bright red as you turned to grab more clothes from the car. Jen jumped forward, her extroverted and naturally flirty personality taking over. “She wasn’t kidding, I can see the appeal. You must be the guitarist too, such talent. Your suits,” Jen paused to reach out and touch the embellished details on a suit jacket you were holding, “has sent our poor girl for a loop through. You have some great ideas, and luckily you have a very talented designer who can help make it happen.” 

Jake smiled at Jen for a moment, likely taken a bit back at her forwardness. “So are you coming with us too, or…?” he started, clearly curious. Jen shocked her head and chuckled, “no way! I’m into high fashion and less costuming. She’s your girl for that. I’ll help where I can from here.” He nodded and pointed to the last few boxes in the trunk, “do those go in too?” You both nodded and he reached forward to grab the boxes, his shirt riding up slightly to expose the tanned strip of skin of his hip. Jen gave you a look as she slid the last box towards herself. “He is fine as hell,” Jen whispered to you as she grabbed the final box, pushing the trunk closed with her hip. You giggled as you walked behind her, carrying the last of the hanging clothes. 

Once you were back in the bus, you busied yourself with organizing all of your supplies and the clothes. You sorted the finished and partially finished pieces by member, using a sticky note on a hanger to separate them. The working concept was a different color and wardrobe for each state with minor adjustments to each member’s wardrobe between shows within the same state. Whether it was something as minor as adding some lace details or more drastic like changing the color of a specific part of a suit, the group wanted to keep fans on their toes and express themselves through their costumes. You had the first state’s clothes finished, you just needed to finalize fit and fix a few last minute defects. 

You felt a body behind you and turned, almost bumping into Danny’s chest. He was tall, probably a little over 6 feet, with a muscular yet slender build. His curly hair had been gathered up into a loose bun, his bangs and some framing pieces of hair tousled perfectly. He truly was handsome, and his calm demeanor was comforting. “Sorry,” he said with a chuckle, backing up to give you some space. He pointed to the racks. “Can I see what you have ready for me?” he asked, giving you a reserved smile. You nodded and reached to pull out his clothes, turning to place them on a hook on the opposite wall. 

You started with his first outfit, which was complete. It was a slightly sheer top in a deep emerald green color with crystals which you had painstakingly applied by hand, one by one. The material was lace overlaid on mesh in order to ensure breathability. It was also sleeveless, allowing you to meet both of the criteria he had specifically asked for- ventilation and mobility. He was very easy-going when it came to his outfits, with minimal input giving you creative liberty when designing for him. He reached out to run his hand over the shirt and smiled at you. “This looks amazing. I can’t wait for the final fitting.” You smiled and nodded quietly, moving the shirt to show him the pants. They were a shiny black material and stretchy with the same green mesh with lace overlay from the shirt on the sides of the pants. “Breathable,” you said, gesturing to the sides and showing how it wasn’t see-through, but was light. “Gorgeous,” he said, running his hands along the fabric and lightly brushing against your hand. 

You moved to show him the other pieces you had started for him, but were interrupted by Emily calling out to you from the front of the bus. You and Danny turned to face her and you saw everyone else doing the same. Jen was perched next to Jake on a bench on one side of the bus, Sam sitting in the corner on Jake’s other side. Josh stood leaned against the table in the center of the space, flipping through some of your sketches. 

“Alright, we are all loaded up. It’ll be three hours until our first stop for lunch. So wherever you want to be for that first leg, figure it out,” Jen said before double-checking her clipboard, nodding and turning to leave. Jen hopped up and ran to you, pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to miss you,” you whispered into her ear. You couldn’t help but tear up a little bit- you hadn’t been away from Jen for more than a weekend in years, both of you bound to each other. Jen rubbed light circles on your back, something she did often to ground you. “You’re gonna do great. And I’ll see you before you know it,” she whispered before letting go of you and giving you a final squeeze on your shoulders. You noticed then that all four of the men were still in their same spots. Sam and Jake watched you and Jen intently before turning to look at their hands, Josh had turned back to flipping through your sketches, and Danny had made himself busy looking through the shoe collection in the closet. 

Jen turned and started towards the front of the bus, turning to wave to the group. “Please don’t forget to water my plants!” you called out to Jen as she disappeared from view. You knew she’d remember though- you’d programmed reminders every day on her phone.

You turned to face the group. “So, who wants to do their first fitting on the road?”

[mariacallous]

Forty-one state attorneys general penned a letter to Meta’s top attorney on Wednesday saying complaints are skyrocketing across the United States about Facebook and Instagram user accounts being stolen, and declaring “immediate action” necessary to mitigate the rolling threat.

The coalition of top law enforcement officials, spearheaded by New York attorney general Letitia James, says the “dramatic and persistent spike” in complaints concerning account takeovers amounts to a “substantial drain” on governmental resources, as many stolen accounts are also tied to financial crimes—some of which allegedly profits Meta directly.

“We have received a number of complaints of threat actors fraudulently charging thousands of dollars to stored credit cards,” says the letter addressed to Meta’s chief legal officer, Jennifer Newstead. “Furthermore, we have received reports of threat actors buying advertisements to run on Meta.”

“We refuse to operate as the customer service representatives of your company,” the officials add. “Proper investment in response and mitigation is mandatory.”

In addition to New York, the letter is signed by attorneys general from Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, North Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, Wyoming, and the District of Columbia.

“Scammers use every platform available to them and constantly adapt to evade enforcement. We invest heavily in our trained enforcement and review teams and have specialized detection tools to identify compromised accounts and other fraudulent activity,” Meta says in a statement provided by spokesperson Erin McPike. “We regularly share tips and tools people can use to protect themselves, provide a means to report potential violations, work with law enforcement and take legal action.”

Account takeovers can occur as a result of phishing as well as other more sophisticated and targeted techniques. Once an attacker gains access to an account, the owner can be easily locked out by changing passwords and contact information. Private messages and personal information are left up for grabs for a variety of nefarious purposes, from impersonation and fraud to pushing misinformation.

“It's basically a case of identity theft and Facebook is doing nothing about it,” said one user whose complaint was cited in the letter to Meta's Newstead.

The state officials said the accounts that were stolen to run ads on Facebook often run afoul of its rules while doing so, leading them to be permanently suspended, punishing the victims—often small business owners—twice over.

“Having your social media account taken over by a scammer can feel like having someone sneak into your home and change all of the locks,” New York's James said in a statement. “Social media is how millions of Americans connect with family, friends, and people throughout their communities and the world. To have Meta fail to properly protect users from scammers trying to hijack accounts and lock rightful owners out is unacceptable.”

Other complaints forwarded to Newstead show hacking victims expressing frustration over Meta’s lack of response. In many cases, users report no action being taken by the company. Some say the company encourages users to report such problems but never responds, leaving them unable to salvage their accounts or the businesses they built around them.

After being hacked and defrauded of $500, one user complained that their ability to communicate with their own customer base had been “completely disrupted,” and that Meta had never responded to the report they filed, though the user had followed the instructions the company provided them to obtain help.

“I can't get any help from Meta. There is no one to talk to and meanwhile all my personal pictures are being used. My contacts are receiving false information from the hacker,” one user wrote.

Wrote another: “This is my business account, which is important to me and my life. I have invested my life, time, money and soul in this account. All attempts to contact and get a response from the Meta company, including Instagram and Facebook, were crowned with complete failure, since the company categorically does not respond to letters.”

Figures provided by James’ office in New York show a tenfold increase in complaints between 2019 and 2023—from 73 complaints to more than 780 last year. In January alone, more than 128 complaints were received, James’ office says. Other states saw similar spikes in complaints during that period, according to the letter, with Pennsylvania recording a 270 percent increase, a 330 percent jump in North Carolina, and a 740 percent surge in Vermont.

The letter notes that, while the officials cannot be “certain of any connection,” the drastic increase in complaints occurred “around the same time” as layoffs at Meta affecting roughly 11,000 employees in November 2022, around 13 percent of its staff at the time.

[cruetrimeblog]

The Unfortunate Story of John List

John List was the only child of German American parents born in Bay City, Michigan. His parents' names were John and Barbara List. John grew up in a Lutheran household which led him to become a Sunday school teacher just like his dad. John worked as a lab tech during World War Two. He served three years before being discharged in 1946. John went on to earn a bachelor's degree in business administration. He then earned a master's degree in accounting.

John was called back into active duty in 1950 due to the advancement of the Korean War. He met a woman named Helen Taylor while stationed in Virginia. They began a romantic relationship and got married in December of 1951 in Baltimore. The two decided to live in California. Due to his work as a successful military accountant, John was reassigned to the Finance Corps.

John completed his second tour in 1952. He went on to work as an accountant in Detroit. He later took a job as an audit supervisor in Kalamazoo, Michigan. This is where he and Helen raised three kids together. John became a general supervisor by 1959.

Unfortunately, Helen suffered from alcoholism. She became increasingly unstable over the years. Her daughter (before she met John) Brenda, moved out of the family home in 1960. The rest of the List family moved to Rochester, New York where John was offered a job with Xerox. After becoming the director of accounting services, John accepted a job as Vice President and comptroller of a bank in New Jersey. This is where the family moved into a large estate in Westfield, New Jersey named "Breeze Knoll." The home was a 19 room victorian mansion.

John decided to kill his entire immediate family on November 9, 1971. When the kids left for school that day, he shot Helen in the head. She was 46 years old at the time. He then went upstairs where he shot and killed his mother Alma who was 84 years old at the time. Then John decided to sit and wait for his kids to come home from school. Patricia and Frederick List were the first to arrive. The were 16 and 13 years old. John shot and killed them both. Afterwards, John proceeded to make himself lunch, run to the bank to drain his mother's accounts, then went to the local high school to watch his eldest son John Jr. play soccer. When John Jr. was finished playing, John drove them both home. John attempted to shoot his son shortly after they entered the home, but the gun misfired. This gave John Jr. a chance to fight back against his father. But it was to no avail. John shot him several more times. John Jr. was the only victim to be shot more than once.

After the murders, John placed the bodies of his family into sleeping bags and lined them up in the ballroom of the family home. However he had to leave his mother’s body upstairs, claiming she was too heavy to drag downstairs. John then sat down to write a five page letter to his pastor stating that he killed his family to “save their souls.” He proceeded to try cleaning up the scene, but he also eerily cut his face out of all of the family photos in the home. He turned the radio all the way up, turned on every light in the house, and left without a trace to start a new life.

The bodies of the List family weren’t discovered until around a month after the murders. The neighbors weren’t suspicious at first, because the Lists tended to keep to themselves. John wrote letters to his kids schools and jobs to explain that he was taking the family out of town on a trip. He canceled the milk, mail, and newspaper deliveries. Neighbors finally alerted authorities when the lights in the home started burning out.

Investigators started by examine the outside of the house and determined that nothing seemed amiss. Police returned on December 7th after getting a call from Patricia’s drama coach when she couldn’t get an answer at the door while trying to pick Patricia up for her lesson. Police entered the home through a small window in the basement, and found the bodies.

This crime was the most notorious felony in New Jersey since the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. There was a nationwide manhunt issued for John. The family car was later found at JFK airport, but there was no evidence that John ever got on a plane.

Breeze Knoll was eventually burned down nine months after the murders. The fire was ruled as an arson but is still unsolved. A new house was built on the land in 1974

John took a train from New Jersey to Michigan, and then to Denver where he settled in 1972. He got a job as an accountant and started using the alias Robert Peter Clark. He joined his local Lutheran church. It was while attending this church that he met his next wife Delores Miller. They got married in 1985. The couple moved to Virginia in 1988, and John got a new job there as an accountant.

An episode of America's Most Wanted covered the List murders in 1989. A forensic artist assembled a bust of an age progressed John. This bust was eerily similar to John's current appearance. Less than two weeks after the show aired, John was arrested. John denied his true identity for months. He was extradited to New Jersey in 1989. John didn't admit to being who he was until February of 1990.

During the trial, John admitted that the family was struggling financially after he was laid off from work in 1971. However, he kept his unemployment a secret from his family. He would leave for work at the normal time, but just spend the day reading the newspaper at a local train station. He made ends meet by stealing money from his mother's bank account. Some of the List children had taken on part time jobs to help out the family.

During the trial, John was diagnosed with OCD. John was too proud to accept welfare, so he saw his only financial option to be killing his family, sending them to heaven, and starting a brand new life.

John was convicted of five counts of first degree murder on April 12, 1990. He was quoted saying, "I feel that because of my mental state at the time, I was unaccountable for what happened. I ask all affected by this for their forgiveness, understanding, and prayer." The judge responded, "John Emil List is without remorse and without honor. After 18 years, 5 months, and 22 days, it is now time for the voices of Helen, Alma, Patricia, Frederick, and John F. List to rise from the grave." John was sentenced to five consecutive life sentences. This was the maximum penalty at the time. John quickly filed for an appeal, but was equally as quickly denied.

John admitted during an interview with Connie Chung in 2002 to not considering suicide as another viable option because it would bar him from entering heaven where he hopes to reunite with his family someday.

John died at the age of 82 in 2008 from a bad case of pneumonia. He was being held in New Jersey at the St. Francis Medical Center. He has since been referred to as "The Boogeyman of Westfield."

[whatisonthemoon]

South Korea Christianity Creeps Upon Buddhism (1984)

By Clyde Haberman New York Times March 26, 1984

Among the first sights to catch the visitor's eye are the crosses.

It is not just that there are so many of them, perched upon buildings and forming rooftop latticework across many blocks. What startles in South Korean cities is how the crosses are set on pyramid steel towers, struggling, in advertisement for themselves, to reach higher than those atop neighboring churches. At night, they glow in red neon against the sky.

In parts of Seoul, people leave home as early as 4:30 A.M. to attend church services. One Roman Catholic parish south of the Han River in the capital is so busy that it holds nine masses each Sunday. Here in the country's southwest, church officials say there are not enough ministers and priests to fill the spiritual demand.

''Every parish has three or four masses on Sundays, most of them four,'' said the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Kwangju, Youn Kong Hi. ''The main masses are always packed.'' Adherents Doubled in Decade

At a time when Christianity worries about its future in Western countries, it is flourishing to such an extent in South Korea that many people expect it to overtake Buddhism in a few years as the No. 1 religion. The number of Christians doubled in the last decade, and most denominations expect it will double again over the next 10 years.

The spectacular growth will be highlighted when Pope John Paul II visits in early May to commemorate 200 years of Roman Catholicism in Korea and to canonize 103 Christian martyrs who fell victim to persecution a century ago.

According to Government surveys, one out of six South Koreans now identifies himself or herself as a Christian, but church leaders believe the true figure is closer to one out of four, or a total of 9 million people among the country's population of 40 million.

Catholics account for 1.5 million of the total, and Presbyterians, with 5 million people, are by far the largest Protestant denomination. Although some Americans associate Korean Christianity with the Rev. Moon Sun Myung and his Unification Church, he is a minor force here. 11 Million Buddhists

There are, by some estimates, 11 million Buddhists, along with smaller numbers of adherents to Confucianism, Shamanism, Islam and a homegrown religion known as Chondogyo.

In many respects, Christianity here is a mirror of the South Korean spirit - assertive, pragmatic and given to a measure of fractiousness. There are at least 68 identifiable denominations and subdenominations. The Presbyterians alone are divided into five major groups and 27 smaller ones.

Christianity has become one of the strongest forces in the country politically as well.

Church officials and laymen, for example, provide a core of opposition to the four-year-old regime of President Chun Doo Hwan. Denominations associated with the often-anti-Government National Council of Churches in Korea claim 2.1 million members. Nor is the arrest of clergymen unknown during Mr. Chun's tenure.

It is the social activism of certain churches rather than their spiritual dynamism that attracts some followers. ''Many people feel that religious cover is safer than being alone in the opposition camp,'' said Oh Jae Shik, a National Council of Churches official. Most Sects Are Conservative

But while Christians may be conspicuous among South Korean dissidents, those who are actively opposed to the authoritarian Government constitute a small percentage of the overall church population. Most sects, if they have politics at all, are conservative, providing leaders of government as well as critics. Of the dozen aides to President Chun killed in last fall's bombing attack in Rangoon, Burma, during a presidential visit there, half were Christians.

Perhaps no better example of Korean Christianity's vitality exists than the Full Gospel Church in Seoul, a stronghold of evangelism that aggressively recruits its members, now said to number 350,000.

Sundays at Full Gospel bring echoes of Madison Square Garden. For each of the seven services, 10,000 people fit into the cavernous main chapel and 15,000 more attend in a dozen adjacent auditoriums. They watch on closed-circuit television while the preacher watches them back on a 12-monitor console. Through the day, nine choirs and two orchestras provide liturgical music.

The message at Full Gospel is hope - that life in the world, not to mention in South Korea, is fine. ''We must get rid of grumblings and complaints,'' the Rev. Cho Yong Mok said in a recent sermon. French Introduced Catholicism

Christianity traces its origins in Korea to French Catholic priests who came two centuries ago during the Yi dynasty. But the religion did not begin to flourish until after the arrival of an American Presbyterian missionary, Horace Allen, in 1884 - another anniversary being marked this year. By the early part of this century, the religion had taken such firm hold that not even fervently anti-Christian Japanese could root it out during their 35-year colonial rule.

The grand leaps in South Korean church membership began in the 1960's, particularly among the better educated and more affluent. Even those who try to explain why acknowledge they cannot be sure they are right.

''Traditionally, Korean people like to believe in something,'' said Lee Jung Bae, director general for religious affairs in the Ministry of Culture and Information. Buddhism, many argue, has become a relatively weak social force in South Korea and is thus easily supplanted by Christianity.

Some think the prominence of clergymen in the anti-Japanese resistance enhanced the church's reputation. Favorable views of Westerners, especially Americans after World War II, may have made it easier to accept the West's religion. Then, too, some say, Christianity's message of salvation can be a comfort to people who endured years of economic and political instability.

As practiced here, Christianity is flecked lightly with traces of folk religions such as shamanism, which stresses spirituality's more discernible benefits. Shamans - usually women - intercede on behalf of their clients with good spirits and exorcise the evil ones. 'Mechanistic Approach' Noted

In a similar manner, Christian prayer sometimes takes a ''mechanistic approach,'' according to Horace Underwood, assistant to the president of Yongsei University, a Presbyterian school. ''If you say it enough and pester the Lord enough, then he's going to do it.''

This underlying pragmatism troubles many clergymen, as does a tendency to concentrate more on increasing church memberships than improving the quality of worship. In a Gallup Poll taken last year, 62.8 percent of South Korean Christians surveyed said social work should be their church's primary mission, but only 16.7 percent thought that it actually was.

Whether Christianity's spectacular growth can continue is a matter for debate. Mr. Lee of the Culture Ministry argues that rapidly growing affluence makes it only a matter of time before South Koreans, like many Westerners, look elsewhere than the church.

Maybe, others say. ''The growth is bound to slow down,'' said Mr. Underwood of Yonsei. ''But I've seen no evidence of it yet.''

[newstfionline]

Sunday, October 15, 2023

US colleges become flashpoints for protests on both sides of Israel-Hamas war (Reuters) At Columbia University on Thursday, two groups of hundreds of students tensely faced each other in dueling pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian demonstrations, while university officials blocked public access to the New York City campus as a safety measure. Supporters of Palestinians, many of whom wore face masks to hide their identities, held signs in a grassy area near a library that read "Free Palestine" and "To Exist is to Resist." About 100 feet (30 meters) away, students backing Israel silently held up posters with the faces of Israeli hostages taken by Hamas. Amid the growing conflict, tensions between students on opposite sides of the issue have boiled over on some U.S. college campuses. Statements by student groups supporting Palestinians have prompted outrage and fear among Jews and, in some cases, wider rebuke from public officials and corporations. There have been reports of harassment and assaults of both pro-Israel and pro-Palestinian students, deepening grief and putting students of all political stripes on high alert.

Dominica’s Golden Passport (Miami Herald) Dominica is a small country in the Caribbean with an increasingly desirable passport, especially for individuals who are willing to pay big bucks to get a citizenship toehold outside of their country for business, freedom of travel, or tax evasion reasons. A passport from Dominica gets you into most countries visa-free, and given an investment program where a passport can be had for $100,000, some of the country’s newest citizens may not be entirely on the level. An investigation found 7,700 people who purchased passports from Dominica, and they’re such a big business that golden passports alone accounted for 50 percent of Dominica’s government budget.

Ukraine hits Russian navy ships with sea drones (Washington Post) “Experimental” naval drones damaged two Russian military vessels—the Buyan missile carrier and the Pavel Derzhavin patrol boat—over the past two days, Ukrainian intelligence officials said Friday, as Kyiv continued a series of strikes against Moscow’s Black Sea Fleet. The attacks on the Black Sea Fleet, which is based in occupied Crimea, have demonstrated Ukraine’s ability to operate in Kremlin-controlled waters but do not appear to have seriously reduced Moscow’s capabilities.

France is deploying 7,000 troops after a deadly school stabbing by a suspected Islamic radical (AP) France will mobilize up to 7,000 soldiers to increase security around the country after a teacher was fatally stabbed and three other people wounded in a school attack by a former student suspected of Islamic radicalization, the president’s office said Saturday. Counterterrorism authorities are investigating the stabbing, and the suspected assailant and several others are in custody, prosecutors said. The suspect is a Chechen who had attended the school and had been under recent surveillance by intelligence services for radicalization. The government heightened the national threat alert, and President Emmanuel Macron ordered up to 7,000 soldiers deployed by Monday night and until further notice to bolster security and vigilance around France, his office said.

Poland prepares to hold a high-stakes national election (Reuters) Poland holds its parliamentary election on Sunday, with the ruling nationalist Law and Justice party, called PiS, seeking an unprecedented third term in power. Critics say the government has politicized the judiciary, used public media as a propaganda tool and undermined the country's position in the EU. The party says it supports Ukraine in its war against Russia, but not at the expense of Poland’s own interests.

Turkey earthquake: Reconstruction promises and reality (Reuters) Sheltering in a converted shipping container, Ismet Kaplan waits to hear if he's eligible for one of hundreds of thousands of homes President Tayyip Erdogan promised would replace those ruined by modern Turkey's deadliest earthquake in February. Days after the quake and with a national election looming, Erdogan made bold promises. While survivors were still emerging from rubble, he said half the disaster zone would be rebuilt within a year - a total of 319,000 homes. Eight months on, more than a dozen officials, builders and engineers told Reuters that rising construction costs and economic uncertainty have deterred companies from bidding for government reconstruction contracts, making that deadline look hard to reach, especially in the worst-hit areas. With work underway on a fraction of the planned new buildings in the devastated city of Adiyaman, Kaplan fears a long wait together with his disabled wife and other survivors. They are exposed to summer and winter temperatures in the lines of containers set up as temporary housing after the Feb. 6 disaster. "I believe it will take years to move," said Kaplan, whose apartment block collapsed in the quake. His daughter, daughter-in-law and four grandchildren died under falling buildings.

Israeli army to confront resilient foe in anticipated Gaza invasion (Reuters) An Israeli invasion of Gaza will face an enemy that has built a formidable armoury with Iran’s help, dug a vast tunnel network to evade attackers and has shown in past ground wars it can exact a heavier toll on Israeli troops each time. Based on past experience, Israel’s bunker buster bombs and hi-tech Merkava tanks will be up against booby-trapped tunnels, fighters using the underground network to strike and vanish, and a range of Hamas weaponry that includes Russian-made Kornet anti-tank missiles that Israel first reported used in 2010. Hundreds of thousands of reservists are being mobilised by Israel for combat against fighters who one former official in Israel’s Shin Bet security service said could number 20,000. Saleh Al-Arouri, deputy chief of Hamas politburo, told Al Jazeera that before Hamas unleashed its assault on Israel it had a defence plan that was stronger than its attack plan.

Thousands Flee Northern Gaza as Israeli Evacuation Order Stirs Panic (NYT) Panic and chaos gripped the northern Gaza Strip Friday as thousands of people fled south in vehicles piled high with blankets and mattresses along two main roads after the Israeli military ordered a mass evacuation of half of the besieged coastal strip. But rather than finding safety from a feared ground invasion, at least 70 people were killed along the way when Israeli airstrikes hit some of the vehicles fleeing south, according to the Gazan authorities. Some Gaza residents said they feared this could be the start of another permanent mass displacement like the one in 1948, when more than 700,000 Palestinians were expelled or fled their homes in present-day Israel during the war surrounding the nation’s establishment. The majority of Gaza’s population—some 1.7 million of the 2.1 million residents—are among those who were forced to leave their homes in 1948, or are their descendants. In 1948, Palestinians were told they would be allowed to return after a few days or weeks, and they took just a few belongings and the keys to their front doors. But they were never allowed back.

Trapped in Gaza, Palestinian Americans Say They Feel Abandoned (NYT) Duaa Abufares, 24, a psychology student from Clifton, N.J., has been anxiously awaiting word from her father, Fares, each day this week. He had gone back to Gaza to visit relatives in early September. Now, Mr. Abufares, who is a U.S. citizen, is sheltering with relatives amid the sounds of nonstop bombing, and calling his five children back in New Jersey during brief periods when he can access electricity. During a video call with them on Thursday, Mr. Abufares, 50, described seeing the bodies of dozens of women and children killed in an airstrike blocks from his family home. The sudden Hamas attack on Saturday and the subsequent counteroffensive left American citizens stranded in both Israel and Gaza. To assist American citizens who want to leave Israel amid the spiraling security crisis, the Biden administration announced it would begin arranging charter flights to ferry Americans to destinations in Europe starting on Friday. But for American citizens stuck in Gaza, there is no such arrangement. “I feel like I’ve been abandoned by my country,” said Lena Beseiso, 57, who lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, and is caught in Gaza with her husband, two of her daughters and a 10-year-old grandson. “We’re American citizens and we’re not being treated as American citizens.” U.S. officials estimated that 500 to 600 American citizens were in Gaza.

With all eyes on Gaza war, violence is quietly mounting in the West Bank (Washington Post) At least 11 Palestinians were killed by Israeli security forces and dozens injured across the West Bank on Friday, according to the Palestinian Ministry of Health, as fears rise over mounting violence and instability ahead of an expected Israeli land invasion of Gaza. In scenes rare for the West Bank, Palestinians raised Hamas flags in a solidarity march with Gaza, defying long-standing political divides between the Islamist militant group and the West Bank’s dominant Fatah party. Many in the occupied territory spent the day glued to the news as Israel ordered 1.1 million Gazans under bombardment to evacuate—fueling Palestinian fears of another mass displacement.

Rise in piracy (gCaptain) The ICC International Marine Bureau is reporting a rise in piracy, with 99 incidents of piracy in the first nine months of this year, up from 90 incidents of piracy over the course of 2022. The pirates are pretty good at their jobs, too: The pirates successfully boarded 89 percent of the vessels they targeted, mostly at night. Of those incidents, 21 took place in the Gulf of Guinea, and 33 took place in the Singapore Straits. The latter waterway is a congested and difficult-to-navigate waterway, and obviously being lousy with pirates complicates things even further.

Your Face May Soon Be Your Ticket. Not Everyone Is Smiling. (NYT) You may not have to fumble with your cellphone in the boarding area very much longer. As the travel industry embraces facial recognition technology, phones are beginning to go the way of paper tickets at airports, cruise terminals and theme parks, making checking in more convenient, but raising privacy and security concerns, too. “Before Covid it felt like a future thing,” said Hicham Jaddoud, a professor of hospitality and tourism at the University of Southern California, describing the way contactless transactions have become common since the pandemic. That includes facial recognition, which is “now making its way into daily operations” in the travel industry, Dr. Jaddoud said. Facial recognition systems are already being expanded at some airports. At Miami International, for example, cameras at 12 gates serving international flights match passengers’ faces to the passport photographs they have on file with the airlines, letting passengers at those gates board without showing physical passports or boarding passes. The company installing the systems, SITA, has been contracted to do the same for a number of international gates in 10 other U.S. airports, including Boston Logan International Airport and Philadelphia International Airport. (Passengers can opt out and still present physical documents instead, SITA says.)

[mrs-kingsley]

Reckless Driver Stalks Family, Husband Unjustly Arrested Despite Video Evidence

Family Left Frustrated and Seeking Justice as Video Evidence Ignored

Manhattan, NY - A harrowing incident unfolded on the streets of Manhattan May 26, 2023 when a family was subjected to a reckless driving altercation that resulted in an unjust arrest. Despite clear video evidence capturing the aggressor's actions, law enforcement officials decided to arrest the victim's husband based solely on the other driver's account. This incident has raised concerns about the fairness of the police response and highlights the need for a thorough and unbiased investigation.

The incident occurred on a busy afternoon as the victim's husband was driving his wife and their 21-month-old child to work. Through the rearview mirror, the wife noticed a driver in a grey Dodge Charger with New York license plate KLZ-2573 driving recklessly. As they approached a red light, the driver of the Dodge Charger approached the victim's husband's window and initiated an argument with the words, "What's popping?"

Shaken by the encounter, the family continued their journey, with the wife promptly contacting emergency services, dialing 911 to report the situation. The menacing driver of the Dodge Charger followed their vehicle, and the family's fear escalated when the driver retrieved what appeared to be a machete or a small bat from the backseat, clutching it in the front seat. The family remained on the line with emergency services throughout the entire ordeal.

Despite the continuous communication with emergency services, the driver of the Dodge Charger trailed the family all the way to the wife's workplace at 57th and Sixth Avenue. Remarkably, the chase persisted even upon reaching the workplace. The wife continued to relay the situation to the authorities, emphasizing the threat to their lives and providing a detailed account of the events as they unfolded.

When the police finally arrived at the scene, they reviewed the video footage captured by the family's dash camera, which unequivocally showed the aggressor's actions. However, shockingly, the police proceeded to detain and arrest the victim's husband, relying solely on the other driver's account of being punched in the face. This decision has left the family feeling frustrated and deeply concerned about the fairness and integrity of the police's response.

The victim and her family believe that the evidence captured on video should have been sufficient to exonerate the husband and instead focus on holding the aggressive driver accountable for his actions. They question why the police did not give due consideration to the compelling evidence at hand, which clearly depicted the aggressor's behavior and the family's efforts to seek protection by contacting emergency services throughout the ordeal.

This incident highlights the need for a thorough investigation into the actions of the police officers involved. The family is currently seeking legal representation to challenge the arrest and ensure that justice is served.

[wardogsong]

Tell us about a small, passing relationship your muse has with someone in their everyday life. Are they on a first name basis with their barista? What about the busdriver?

Frankieboy! — as he is so often called in the neighborhood he grows up in, knows EVERYBODY. NEW YORK CITY might be a big sprawling metropolis of some eight million souls, but his little slice of BAYSIDE, QUEENS is so much smaller than that. It's the kind of place where your neighbor's house literally touches your own sometimes and there's no such things as walls thick enough to muffle loud Italian voices and families.

He knows the butcher his mother favors by name, like he knows the names of the priests at The Sacred Heart of Jesus where his ears get pulled on the regular. He knows them and they know him in return, the surprisingly late in life baby given to the Castigliones from 27th St.

He calls them all by name or nickname when the relationship is informal enough to allow it, even for a teen like himself, or by honorific and surname when respect demands it. Days are filled with quick greetings called out and given with a nod or a wave. "Mornin', Big Paul! — Hey, Nico!" There are juniors and seniors and ma'am's and Frankie does his duty by them all, nodding his hellos or allowing his cheeks to be kissed or pinched-- or worse, having his gelled hair ruffled and fucked up.

Where he comes from? There are no such things as strangers; be they paper boys, corner shop workers, tokenbooth people, delivery van drivers, or beyond. If you existed within his neighborhood someone was bound to ask why and who you were and then word would get out about it and you wouldn't be a stranger anymore.

Frank doesn't come into more of the traditional Mind Your Business way of life that all New Yorkers cleave to until he's back from Basic. By then though, the amount of time he spends in Queens is minimal, with the bulk of his free time actually goings to Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. There he only sometimes requires a name or introduction. People are reminded or introduced that he's Sal's boy!

In that neck of the woods Frank maintains a plethora of passing relationships formed by the various errands he runs for his family of choice-- or the ones he escorts Eve to and from. Because of his association with them those passing relationships see him almost always on his best behavior. He's polite-- a generous tipper when it's called for, patient when it comes to waiting on something, and generally the opposite of troublesome. He's always got a chuckle for the same five recycled jokes told at the Post Office window by the old timer who works it and hands him his packages-- he always leaves promising to buy some more shit so he can come back sooner. He's like that at the dry cleaner's, the bread baker's, and the local florist where he keeps Sal's account current and updated so that Mrs. Scozzari is never bored by their deliveries.

He's an easy-going guy with people who have no cause to trip his temper and he remembers everyone who comes across him twice, just in case they ever be an important cog in something greater.

Pete Castiglione on the other hand exists purposefully in a way he hopes is forgettable. This is something in which he's been trained, and yet that even earlier childhood rearing trumps the subterfuge later taught to him in the service. On security camera he may just be another scruffy shadow of a shambling man, but in person he's the type of guy who play-flirts with old waitresses that greet him with coffee pots at the diners he frequents. His voice is a rasping growl of a thing that leaves an impression-- he shouldn't use it so much, but he's always got a joke in his pocket to lighten moods and let people go off of something other than his intimidating build and harsh appearance. He knows he looks like a threat but he NEEDS people to be calm.

He still knows people by their names even if they know him as Pete-- and try as he might to make things different, to move through the world like a ghost, he's still out here befriending the pet shop owners who sell him kibble and the corner-store dames who make the only coffee left in the city that costs less than a dollar. He lives in mortal peril that he's painting targets on them all but sometimes there's just no teaching an old dog new tricks.

[ausetkmt]

The 212

The grande dame of New York soul food, now run by a new generation of the Woods dynasty, has been feeding the city, and its most distinguished visitors, for six decades.

The family tradition continues at Sylvia’s restaurant in Harlem. From left: the founder Sylvia Woods’s grandson chef Marcus Woods; her grandson, and the company’s C.E.O., K. De’Sean Woods; and her son, and the business’s former C.E.O. and owner, Kenneth Woods.Credit...Chase Middleton

A look at Sylvia's Restaurant of Harlem and the legacy that a grandmother left for her prosperity. To say that Sylvia’s in Harlem is a landmark would be an understatement. When the late Sylvia Woods opened her namesake restaurant in 1962, she put in motion a legacy that continues today.

From the Civil Rights movement to 9/11, Sylvia’s has served its customers as a place of community, gathering, and hope when they didn’t know where else to turn. Sylvia herself believed — and her granddaughter still believes — that comfort and healing are cooked right into their fried chicken.

Nov. 16, 2022

It’s a chilly gray Monday in New York and rain is sluicing down the front windows of the building at 328 Malcolm X Boulevard but inside there is an air of communal contentment. I’m having lunch with a couple of friends (one old, one new) at Sylvia’s, the venerable restaurant that has been at this location since 1962, and the buzz of amiable conversation that fills the space dims only — into murmurs of anticipation — when orders arrive at tables: Fried chicken, the meat tender and juicy beneath a crackly golden coat with just a hint of spice; macaroni and cheese as rich and gooey as in a child’s dream; deep green collards; tiny pale lima beans; sticky orange-gold candied yams. Just as the restaurant’s founder, Sylvia Woods, intended when she opened the place, it serves food not only to satiate hunger and please the taste buds but also satisfy the soul.

On a black awning that runs across the facade a purple logo announces, “Sylvia’s Restaurant, Queen of Soul Food.” Once just a tiny luncheonette, it now has multiple areas including three dining rooms and an enclosed terrace — enough space to seat about 400 people. The original counter — which will soon reopen as a full-service bar carrying locally produced wine and spirits — still stands, and arranged on a table nearby are copies of Woods’s two books: “Sylvia’s Soul Food,” published in 1992, and “Sylvia’s Family Soul Food Cookbook,” a 1999 collection of recipes that also serves as a culinary memoir of the South. “Hemingway, South Carolina, where my husband, Herbert, and I grew up and have our roots, probably has more great cooks per square inch than you would find in most cooking schools,” she writes in the introduction, referring to the small rural town where she spent her childhood. “We learned from our mothers and grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins and neighbors.” Hanging on the walls throughout the restaurant are photographs of just some of the celebrities who have come to Sylvia’s over the past six decades because they understood that Woods, who died in 2012, was herself one of those great cooks: Muhammad Ali, Diana Ross, Bill Clinton and every New York mayor going back to John Lindsay.

“For candidates interested in the blessing of Harlem kingmakers, Sylvia’s provides a welcome environment and legitimacy,” says one of my lunchtime companions, Curtis Archer, the president of the Harlem Community Development Corporation, an organization that supports local businesses and residents. “Before his first presidential election I saw Barack Obama having lunch with the Rev. Al Sharpton here.”

When our own orders of fried chicken and waffles appear — and are duly bathed in glistening syrup — the conversation turns to the origins of the dish. Accounts vary, but most agree it was created in 1930s Harlem, possibly by Dickie Wells at his club on West 133rd Street, and was popularized at J.T. Wells’s nearby supper club in the latter part of the decade. The story goes that jazz musicians and their audiences would leave the nearby clubs  too late for dinner and too early for breakfast, and so the filling, savory-sweet combination was exactly what they wanted.

Like so many culinary institutions of 20th-century Harlem, both Wellses’ are long gone, but Sylvia’s remains. According to Tren’ness Woods, 50, one of Woods’s 18 grandchildren and the restaurant’s senior vice president for development, it has lasted, in part, because it was “the largest minority employer in Harlem for many years, and always a safe space for the community — for everyone, rich or poor, Black or white, famous or down on their luck.” 

Later, Kenneth Woods, 69, Tren’ness’s father and the third of Sylvia Woods’s four children, stops by our table. The restaurant has always been a family affair: Fourteen members of the dynasty currently work at the company. Kenneth became C.E.O. in 2003, and last year he turned over the business to his son, K. De’Sean Woods, 35. A compact man in a dark blue quilted vest and blue-and-white checked shirt, Kenneth looks every bit the dedicated fisherman he’s been for decades, since learning to catch catfish, trout and tilefish in Hemingway, where he spent time with his grandparents as a child.

Sylvia Woods was born in Hemingway in 1926, and her father died a few days later. In 1929, her mother, Julia Pressley, left Woods, her only child, with her grandmother and other relatives, joining the Great Migration, the exodus of roughly six million Black Americans from the South to the North, West and Midwest between 1910 and 1970. Like so many people who arrived in New York, Pressley was looking for a better life for herself and her children — but she kept a plot of land in Hemingway and returned often, later building her own farm there.

At 18, Woods married Herbert Woods, whom she had known since childhood, and in the 1940s they settled in Harlem. She worked in a hat factory in Queens and as a waitress and manager at various places in Harlem — including Johnson’s Luncheonette, the tiny lunch counter that she bought, in 1962, with all her savings as well as a loan from her mother, who took out a second mortgage on her farm to help. (Woods was able to repay her mother just a year after opening.) During the restaurant’s early years, Herbert did the food shopping and the couple’s older children pitched in. Woods, who worked all hours, would put her younger children, when they were babies, in the bread warming drawers to nap.

It is sometimes said, though others disagree, that the writer Amiri Baraka (then LeRoi Jones) coined the term “soul food” in a 1962 essay of the same name. During the 1920s, because of the Great Migration — and because developers and landlords had pushed Black New Yorkers out of other neighborhoods — Harlem became the Black capital of the country, and newly arrived Southerners brought with them their recipes, and the skills required to make them. In the rural South, families like Woods’s cooked what they raised or fished or hunted or grew or picked: chicken, shrimp, venison, okra, lima beans, black-eyed peas, peaches, pecans, pears. And in Harlem — at home, and in the many cafes, restaurants and stands that sprang up in the neighborhood in the 20th century — Southerners kept their culinary traditions alive.

Sylvia's Restaurant in Harlem, NYC, has been an iconic soul food restaurant and cultural institution for 57 years. We learned to cook up their famous ribs and fried chicken and waffles from the grandson of the founder herself, Sylvia Woods

“Can you imagine what it was like to be a Black woman of that era?” says my other tablemate, Musa Jackson, the editor in chief of Ambassador Digital Magazine and a co-founder of the Harlem Festival of Culture. “How hard it was to run a business?” Jackson was born in Harlem and when he was a child, a trip to Sylvia’s was a great treat. “This restaurant was always in my consciousness, even as a little boy,” he says. Jackson was also, in his words, “the first successful Black male model from Harlem.” He was discovered at Area, the 1980s-era New York nightclub, and soon found himself walking the runway for Jean Paul Gaultier and other designers in Paris. Over the years, he brought his European and downtown friends to eat at Sylvia’s.

As dessert arrives — creamy banana pudding, sweet potato pie and peach cobbler, all to share for the table and each topped with a wobbly pile of whipped cream — I think about my own attachment to the place. I love Sylvia’s because I’ve been going here most of my life. It has a profound sense of an inimitable history and I’m afraid of forgetting it. I love it, too, of course, because the chicken and cornbread are very nearly celestial. But perhaps most of all, I feel good here because of the unforced welcome. As Jackson says of his earlier pilgrimages to Sylvia’s, “I remember not just the food but Woods herself. She put her arms around you and what you felt was love and joy.”