Diary of a Geriatric Scarlet: November 21, 2050

For a time, I entertained the notion of Harlem. In theory, Harlem has an allure not found downtown. It's talent undiscovered. It's rare gems and underdogs and the romanticized version of neighborhoods I probably wouldn't live in due to walkups and my arthritis.

Also there is nothing romantic about the Cross Bronx Expressway. Robert Moses was an ass, I often say, with a flourish of my wrinkled hands.

On Friday, we ventured to the United Palace Theater. It's an antique jewelry box of a place. Three quarters of a century ago, in 1979, it stood bleak and weather beaten before a wreaking ball. But a visionary who fancied himself a preacher saved the joint and it has been a beacon of golden flamboyance ever since.

Of course I'm an old lady who remembers the olden day dances, like hip hop and b-boy and krumping. Which is why we got crackalackin and journeyed on the A Train the entire way to 175th to take in the Hip Hop Nutcracker. To reminence our youth.

There is something harmonious about Hip Hop in Harlem. In Harlem, you know the DJ and the dancers can't phone it in. The locals in those velvet seats knows the good from the fakers. It's a skill I wish I had learned long ago, especially where home improvement contractors, financial planners and physicians are concerned.