Stranger's Anonymous

 It's a weekend in northern Brooklyn. And you know what that means....

Yes. It means that the L train isn't running. Again. And you know what happens when the L train isn't running?

Correct! IT ALSO MEANS THAT THE M TRAIN ONLY TAKES YOU TO DELANCEY. 

It's almost as if the city's infrastructure for transportation is crumbling or something like that. I don't know. Maybe I'll ask Pete Buttigieg (is that how you even spell his last name?)

But this time, it wasn't as unbearable. A few skate friends just so happened to be in town, and we planned to meet at Tompkins. Tompkins sucks. But I was in good company. As I was on the way there from 6th Ave, an older lady, probably in her 60's, decided to sit next to me on the wooden benches that probably haven't been cleaned in at least 20 years. I was listening to the 1999 self titled album when she began venting to me about how the supposed reconstruction of the train didn't help it a single bit. At first I thought she was just gonna stop after that one liner, but she ebbed into a more interesting convo about how cheap her apartment in the Upper West Side was and how she told her landlord that he is going to "bury" her there. I was....enthused. Wait, wrong word. This phrase is better: the convo peaked my interest.

She kept dropping bombs on me. "I used to be a legal secretary", "I was a flamenco dancer", "I'm meeting my friend at the flea market. I don't have her number, and she doesn't have mine". Interesting, no?

I think the most interesting part of the conversation was when she told me about her time abroad in Spain. She complained about how they still have the conquistador attitude and how some dude she met there said that their ancestors came over when the Spanish first came to America. "You know what I told him? I told him that they took random people out of jail to come to the New World because nobody wanted to go. That's right. Your ancestors are a piece of shit!"

She got off at the same stop in the East Village as me. The flea market she was going to just so happened to be the same way that Tompkins was. We chatted for a few more minutes, and said goodbye. She left me with a beaming smile, like, the one that grandparents give their grandkids when the graduate high school or something. A lady of many lives.

king of queens

 It is so easy to say that where you live sucks. It’s even harder admitting that it’s not all that bad.

But recently, Brooklyn has been feeling, how you say, washed? 

We’re all part of the problem, including me. We all love hear big eyed thinking “is this what living is?” until we realize that this isn’t really living at all. I mean, going to the bar and not leaving until 3:30 AM is super sick, and I may or may not have done that in the last 24 to 48 hours, but, sustainability wise? That’s a whole different conversation. But I digress.

I took it upon myself to enjoy the beautiful weather from today and venture into NoMansLand, THE COUNTY OF QUEENS. 

It’s chic. It’s clean. There were, like, no rats. The security guard at the beer garden was nice to me? (!!!) This was an unprecedented event. 

Bushwick is loud, always on the go, and full of filth. And that’s part of the reason I love it there. It’s a very “coming of age” kind of neighborhood, until you realize that everyone that’s being priced out of Williamsburg (which is honestly Manhattan at this point) is seeping into Maria Hernandez, Irving Square, and Carmelos. 

Astoria is the lowly man’s dream. (More) Affordable housing, more space, quick access to Manhattan. You name it. I mean, let’s be real here. Astoria Park > McCarren. 

Alas, it was a great acid trip while it lasted. It slowly faded as I perused through my music catalog while driving on Grand Central, hoping that the stop and go traffic wouldn’t get in the way of putting in my password correctly to play La Medicina by Los Tetas. And while I can daydream about the day I become a Queens man, I must live in reality. My paisanos are playing their favorite tunes, and I may or may not have helped a street vendor move her cooler down the double set of stairs at the subway. A beer at the corner bodega still costs $2.50, and the cashier clerk will still wave to me from time to time. 

It’s ok to bitch every now and again.