I Live in Brooklyn, and You Never Will
I like people, and if you like people, it’s a good place to be. If you don’t like people; lots and lots of them; then it would not be a good place to be. It’s fun – the different people you meet, the things they say, what they do, how they act – there are so many diverse cultures and languages and religions and nationalities; and that all combines to become, to me, the most exciting, refreshing and thrilling thing about living here. And they will all usually respond – chat – involve their lives with you for a few moments, if you just ask. They’re not going to make plans for a picnic with you, but you meet people and comment, and ask about whatever, and everyone generally has something to share. I like that.
And then, you never see them again. Or you do. But that’s the part about living here that is indescribable – it’s impossible to tell someone about that energy, just the way that words don’t describe certain sunsets or cloud formations or natural wonders.
What’s it like? Not like you see on “NYPD Blue”. There are trees and grassy yards. The people are not cold and uncaring. (But dey really do tawk like you’ve hoid….). You’re not horrified of getting mugged. It’s not dangerous everywhere all the time. It’s fun. It’s expensive. But it’s worth it. It IS like you’ve probably heard in terms of stores, grocery shopping: you buy different components at small 24 hour bodegas and gazebos. One thing here, another thing there. Good quality food, foreign, American, original; bagels, pizza, French cheeses, fish, affordable seafood – there’s nothing you can’t get to eat here!
The Yankees, the Mets…the Giants, the Jets, the Rangers, the Knicks, wow.
My landlord’s name is Vinny. He talks about gambling in Atlantic City all the time. He doesn’t like to hire professional maintenance people. His “buddies” come to do the maintenance, they are all named, “Tommy”, “Tony”, or “Sal”. They always look as though they’ve just come off a 3 week bender. They communicate in grunts and “fuggeddaboutid”s…
Every single store delivers. Well, no one has a car! At least the majority of us don’t. You can get dog food, tires, insect repellent, clothing, masking tape, food, anything – delivered. 24 hours. It may cost ya, but it’s available. Men come on bicycles and knock on your door, and hand you the goods. You should tip. Most do.
There are birds that sing. And squirrels. And feral cats, and well, a few rats. OK, a lot of rats. Oddly, though, I rarely see them outside. They like the subway tunnels. They mean no harm, and they won’t hurt ya. Pretty big, though, a few of them…bigger than those cats!
Old people sit out on their porches in Summer in their holy t-shirts and sweat and wave at you. They have soda and beer and ice cream, and they gossip about their jobs and dates and relations. Don’t block the doorway at the post office. Don’t take up several seats on the subway with your feet or backpack. It’s populated. It’s dense. It’s busy here. Don’t get into people’s business if they don’t invite you. It’s rude. No one does that. If you do….well, you’ll find out. Some serious decibels and some serious language can be unleashed, and fast. And hard. Look out.
There is, as you’ve heard, a lot of trash on the streets. And sidewalks. Most everywhere. Hey, it’s New York. I can’t really figure out why this ever started, but I think it’s the avoidance of accountability. When there are 8 million people in a city, it’s easy for people to think, “If I litter, no one will know. No one will care.” I don’t litter. But someone does.
The beach is accessible. I never even thought about it when I moved here. I get on the subway at 4th Avenue, and $2 and 35 minutes later I am IN the Atlantic Ocean. Cool, frisky, fun and sandy. I love it. But again…litter. The beach is dirty. The water’s not so bad, but people litter on the beach. A lot. It’s a bit sad.
About the car thing again – I despise cars. Never liked ’em. (My doctor says that car accidents are the leading cause of accidental death for my age group. So, I figure I’m in the safest place I’ve ever lived.) Still, there are a million of them here. But the point is you really don’t need one. S.F., you do. They say you don’t, but you do. Here, for $2, you can go anywhere, 24 hours a day, every day of the year. It never stops. Even during the attacks, (I wasn’t here then), I hear the subway started up again within the hour everywhere it could. I love it. You read a lot more. You meet people. You’re too close to people. It’s annoying. It’s funny. It’s incredible.
But somehow through it all it’s a beautiful life. And I see the same people. Over and over again, in different places, even if I change up my schedule or subway line or walking route. It’s eerie. How does that work? I’m still figuring it out. Probably won’t……
The only thing that I really don’t like about my neighborhood, seriously, is that those car alarms go off. All the time. For various reasons. The rumble of the elevated or subway train sets them off. The people that own these car alarms, in my opinion, are serious criminals. I’ve memorized the cadence of the noises….honk – honk – honk – honk, woo – woo – woo – woo, ERB- ERB – ERB – ERB, ooooeee – ooooeee – ooooeee etc. It sucks. But I can deal….
People in my neighborhood are wound a bit tightly but are quite friendly. I live in an area between the upscale areas of Carroll Gardens and Park Slope; it’s kind of an industrial wasteland, (but it’s near the subway station) basically a bunch of warehouses near the foul but famous Gowanus Canal. Years ago, it was where the Mafia would dump bodies before they had a big dinner at Monty’s Italian restaurant on Carroll. The joke nowadays is that the water is 90% guns.
Where my apartment is, It’s very urban, but there is a huge beautiful park 6 blocks away, Prospect Park – where people roller blade, run, bike, play baseball, have family picnics – it’s a pretty park. Prettier than Central Park, in my opinion.
People are helpful, too! They are interested in each other’s welfare. Last Spring during the thaw, it was still icy on the sidewalks, and one night I was walking toward home down Tenth Street at Third Avenue, carrying a rebuilt PC on my shoulder. Ahead on the sidewalk I saw a person walking toward me, and though I am not apprehensive in my neighborhood at night, it’s always best to be aware. As we met, I noticed that this woman was watching me with concern as I navigated the ice with my computer.
“Careful,” she offered, “Ice here – there you go – careful….careful….lots of ice.” I nodded and thanked her, also thinking with amusement that in Minnesota, such advice would go without saying. But I appreciated her concern. After I had proceeded about ten more steps, she called after me, ” – and switch arms so you don’t get tendonitis!”
I actually sleep pretty well here. I don’t know why. I probably will stay quite a while, if I can afford it.
