I knew when the news broke about me losing my job it was only a matter of time. I timed it out. I left my former job yesterday at approximately 11:30 AM. I called my mom to quietly tell her what happened at 11:45 AM. I then walk down the street to go lay on my friend Jen's couch and stare at the ceiling while she gives me calm affirmations to all the animal noises I kept grunting out. at 12 PM I get a call from my Dad. The call. They well why don't you move back to New York Call. 30 minutes. The Game is called.
Of course I would love to move back to New York. I retain my title as a east coast elitist and insist that it is still in fact the greatest city in the world. I miss people who walk like they have some place to be and cutting class to go over to the Natural History Museum. I like real bars that are open late and bodegas where a non judgmental man will make you a sandwich at 4 am. I miss diversity and sloppily shoveling a square knish in my mouth, and wearing a tiny black dress and humoring dudes that work in "New media development" (whatever the fuck that is) at rooftop parties. I grew up on Longisalnd in a commuter town. (I even get weirdly home sick for there too. Long islanders can be trash but I miss real beaches and tiny Italian restaurants and Billy Joel could make a surprise appearance by crashing into the front of your house at any time but that is a whole different blog post.) As soon as I was old enough to go out on my own I was in the city every chance I got, terrorizing tea shops and going to punk shows. Its what you did. I went to art college in Manhattan where I learned how to stretch canvas, how to bullshit my way through anything, and what gallery openings had the best free booze. One of my childhood best friends still lives in my old beloved Brooklyn apartment that I affectionately refer to as the Greenpoint Cry Castle. You only name apartments that you love.
It's not that easy though, first of all have you met my family? I can't move back there without a banging career (In either television or looking hot at club openings. That's success right?) otherwise I will be hearing about "that time you wasted in Portland" for the rest of my life. Some stereotypes are true, and I am not about to volunteer for the intellectual upper middle-class nightmare version of Everybody Loves Raymond my life would instantly turn into. Also I don't know if you are aware, but only rich people get to have fun anymore. And by fun, I mean live in apartments where the toilet isn't free standing in the kitchen and they get to control their own heat instead of the bodega/Laundromat/Russian mafia front down stairs. Everybody I know that still lives there has had to migrate further and further into Queens while gathering new roommates like a disaffected Craiglists Katamari. Do you guys know about "railroad" styled apartments? You probably don't because you live in a magical well adjusted wonderland. Its where there are no hallways, just rooms attached to rooms, and because you are a "young urban artist", you have three roommates in each one, who are all sickly smelly bearded dudes coming off heroin. You have to go through each others rooms to get to say, the kitchen or to escape a fire. It's an actual death trap. And the worse part is, you are grateful to have it because it's only $2,000 a month which is "REALLY GOOD FOR THIS NEIGHBORHOOD".
Things People Don't Understand About NYC Unless They Have Lived There:
- It always smells like feces and garbage in the summertime. It doesn't matter how wealthy you are, you can't escape the stink.
- The more someone hates on Long Island is proportional from how far away they actually grew up from some place as cool as NYC. Like the most hateful person is probably from Wyoming or some other bullshit symmetrical state.
- If you decide to be the red flag of gentrification in your neighborhood you better sooth it over with the locals or nobody will look out for you. This will result with you either getting robbed or your laundry or bike stolen. Find the old dudes that run the block. They are sitting on the stoop. Buy them the liquor or beer of their choice. you are now cool. When some other white whiny weenier creative types move in, don't tell them your secret. High five the dudes on the stoop when their laundry gets stolen.
- There is a ghost baby that died by pooping itself to death that haunts the subway. You know you are on a train with the ghost baby because the whole car smells like someone took a dump. If the train pulls up and is super crowded like everyone is trying to escape a war but there is one car that is totally empty, do not enter! Its a trap set by the ghost baby! It will have one defiant turd sitting in the middle of the car and no air conditioning. This is the ghost babies commentary on urban growth boundaries or celebrity culture or something.
"But Katie, New York City is an epicenter for comedy and television! Isn't like that your entire steeze? Why are you wasting away in the sea of complacency and questionable aesthetics that is Portland Oregon? WHY? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID OR SOMETHING HUH? KATIE WHY KATTTTIIEEE" Well I am glad you asked. First off, in Portland I can get stage time any day of the week and have a ton of opportunities to figure out how to be funny while not having to worry about like, how I am going to eat. Sure NYC is a cultural monolith but thats why every blue hat and red hat and no hat from bumble fuck nowhere moves there to "make it!!!!!". Seriously, have they renamed Williamsburg "Little Ohio" yet? The point is, why struggle against all the chafe when I can just go Super Saiyan over here in the pacific north west and then kamehameha my way to wherever the fuck I want to go. New York Shitty, I love you but you broke my heart. See you around.
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