Blog posts by LaCresha

A New Direction in Women's Liberation

LaCresha,

My family thought I would be different than the other Neal women. I was born in 1979: disco was waning, hip-hop was burgeoning, and punk was morphing into New Wave. The dust was settling on many revolutions. It was a period of coasting on the waves of all that was won for the women before me. I took advantage of the opportunities afforded to Gen X women. I moved around the country at will and without care. I was the first in my immediate family to earn a bachelor's degree and then the first to receive a graduate degree. I've sat in rooms with corporate executives; I have my own stock…

An Open Book: Our New Audio Tour of Central Library

LaCresha,

An Open Book   By design, BPL’s Central Library has always been an open book. Now patrons can step into a multi-storied journey through the building designed to mimic the pristine pages of a new book with our recently-launched Central Library Audio Tour. From the Art Deco styling of the limestone façade to the aborted subway platform many floors below, you can take our audio tour with you as you wander around our historic building. If this legendary listen leaves you craving more, check out the reads below.   Style of the Period  The most striking features of Central…

Read My Lipstick

LaCresha,

The time has come to paint that pout again. Secretly glowing in gloss beneath a mask, my ruby rouged lips—a guilty pleasure for the last few months—have been waiting for the moment when I can proudly parade this pucker once more. Primping was out of place for a while, while we collectively embraced a pandemic makeunder, but when what we thought was a day in our pajamas here, no shower there, and a few weeks of turning off the camera on this thing called Zoom turned into sixteen months, undone became the consensus. But now that we’re scaling back the austerity of survival mode…

Spring Cleaning? Dust Yourself Off While You're At It!

LaCresha,

"Botanical Drawing" by various brennemans
Are you feeling dusty? Yes, I said: dusty. When I say dusty, you might hear dull, muted, staid, or uninteresting, but when my southern grandmother calls you dusty, she means raggedy child, you have work to do. Now, she doesn’t necessarily mean this as a putdown, but rather as an invitation to pull yourself up and rise again. I believe that once we shake off the detritus of last spring—that wretched spring, we can live abundantly. If you overslept and forgot the first day of spring—perhaps still recovering…