| Neighborhoods in New York City are curious things. They can encompass, in the larger sense, a great swath of city blocks and apartment buildings and can be a few miles on a side (such as "Park Slope"), or a neighborhood can be as small as the radius of one block, spreading outward from one's bedroom. These smaller areas tend not to have clever names, aside from "my neighborhood," but they are just as likely to have a distinct personality as the larger ones. For example, it might be just as common to hear someone debating the merits of Astoria vs. Park Slope as it might be to hear an argument re: 5th Ave between 6th and 7th St vs. 12th St and 7th Ave. All the different neighborhoods have their supporters and detractors. People who fancy Burberry might be partial to one of the Upper Sides. People who fancy muscle queens might be partial to Chelsea. Some people dislike the feel of being anywhere north of 14th St. in Manhattan, and take it as a point of pride to never venture above it. Still other people might think that Astoria's streets are somehow disturbingly ill-proportioned in a manner that defies description but nevertheless creeps me...er...them out. Park Slope is too cutesy. Midtown is too busy. Carroll Gardens is inexpensive and pretty. Carroll Gardens is cheap and too far from the subway. Everyone here has opinions about all these places, and plenty of beliefs regarding the inhabitants of those neighborhoods as well, as if living in an area automatically brands you with a specific personality just like the guy-next-door's. There is really no way to tell what neighborhoods are better than any other, really. All that being said...Williamsburg fucking BLOWS, dude. It blows SO MUCH that it just made me say "dude." (Not that I do not say "dude" in casual conversation, and probably more often than I might like to admit, but I usually try to avoid it in my WRITING for pete's sake.) I cannot even begin to express how pleasant it was to get into Manhattan today, after spending the night in Flexible's temporary-for-the-month-of-January digs. In Manhattan, I can actually take two steps without being confronted with a dirty hipster in Converse hightops and a hundred dollar haircut. I can look at the side of a building and not see stickers for someone's mopey, disaffected little band of hipster guitarists. Political statements are not stenciled on every square of the sidewalk, and silhouettes of Che Guevara do not adorn each mailbox. People wear actual clothes on occasion, and not just a rotating collection of ironic retro t-shirts, thick black emo glasses, and a newsboy cap. (I would also like to note SWR's remarkably astute comment that the civic planners for Williamsburg apparently appreciate the pattern of "Loft, empty lot, crack den, deserted warehouse, loft.") Ahhh, Manhattan: Or really any neighborhood that is not Williamsburg, actually: you sure are a sight for sore eyes. P.S. If you are from / live in Williamsburg, please disregard the above. You are all lovely people and I think that your horrid little corner of my borough is quite lovely as well. |
