This upcoming Wednesday represents a massive change for me
and my family. We’ll be moving out of Manhattan to Forrest Hills. Now I’ve
lived in Manhattan my whole life and pride myself on being a resident of this
great borough, so the change is going to be a major one. Naturally we’re all
pretty pissed about being the latest victims of gentrification and unaffordable
rents but that’s what this city has become. When will it stop who knows, but
you have to figure we’re going hit a breaking point soon. Well one can hope. So
below I’ve written out my thoughts on this move.
I can finally check off gentrification on my bingo card of
crappy New York experiences.
I get to yell at people who have told me for years that
Austin Street is amazing. I mean come on people it’s three blocks of chain
stores and decent restaurants. If it was in Manhattan it would be just another
forgettable row of shopping. Let’s stop with the nonsense. When people talk up
Austin Street I immediately go back to the scene in Blazing Saddles where Gene Wilder
talks about “people of the land” (you know morons).
An unexpected bonus will be that for the first time in my
life I’m not located in ground zero for a major terrorist attack. Instead of
being instantly wiped out, Forrest Hills will be privy to enjoy the slow agonizing
death that comes with nuclear fallout.
Being forced out of my lovely home will allow me to add to
my favorite hobby: complaining and whining! Watch out Jesus there’s a new
martyr in town!
If anything, this will speed up the process of me leaving
home and getting my own place. Living at home with your parents in Manhattan is
kind of shameful but I can rationalize it by pointing out that I’m in the
greatest place in the world. Living at home with your parents in Queens turns
me into an even less successful George Costanza.
I’ve really enjoyed the fake pity people give me when I say
I’m moving out of Manhattan. If I can keep that pity going for let’s say a good
six months, maybe something good will have come out of this whole ordeal.
It’s very interesting asking people what they think about
Forrest Hills. Most people say it’s nice but that’s all. What is nice really?
To me it’s the vaguest of compliments; a thing to say when a positive
descriptor is needed and nothing else springs to mind. That’s why nobody ever
wants to date the nice guy. The nice guy is boring and bland but on the upside
they’re not unpleasant to be around. Nice is like a faintly pleasant aroma. So
yes Forrest Hills is nice, but what else is it? Manhattan is dirty, overpriced,
and gentrified, but it’s also thrilling, challenging, and endlessly fascinating.
I can’t say anything else about Forrest Hills so far other than it’s nice. But
then again I haven’t lived there so what do I know. Prove me wrong.
I'm going to miss...
saying I live a block away from Bellevue Mental Hospital. You know where Walt Whitman and Sid Vicious stayed and where they treated the Ebola guy.
Being amazed at how I live within 15 minutes walking distance of the Empire State Building and Union Square. Not everybody gets to live in the heart of one of the world's great cities. I guess I'm lucky I was able to do so for over 20 years.
Walking everywhere I ever need to go to
Leaving in my house and being in the middle of a never-ending web of massive skyscrapers and ratty old tenement houses.
The magic that is Fairway.
Passing the house my Nana used to live in on a daily basis.
Gladly reassuring people that some middle class New Yorkers do live in Manhattan
That instant connection when you meet another native or lifelong Manhattanite. We're becoming fewer and fewer.
Never quite understanding how I can hear people yelling and Mr. Softee's siren call very clearly despite being 10 stories up.
It's going to be a transition and but what can ya do. I like to take solace in the fact that I'll always be a snobby (and as of this post, melodramatic) Manhattan kid no matter where I end up living. So in conclusion, fuck Manhattan for kicking us out. But fuck Queens more because it ain't Manhattan.
saying I live a block away from Bellevue Mental Hospital. You know where Walt Whitman and Sid Vicious stayed and where they treated the Ebola guy.
Being amazed at how I live within 15 minutes walking distance of the Empire State Building and Union Square. Not everybody gets to live in the heart of one of the world's great cities. I guess I'm lucky I was able to do so for over 20 years.
Walking everywhere I ever need to go to
Leaving in my house and being in the middle of a never-ending web of massive skyscrapers and ratty old tenement houses.
The magic that is Fairway.
Passing the house my Nana used to live in on a daily basis.
Gladly reassuring people that some middle class New Yorkers do live in Manhattan
That instant connection when you meet another native or lifelong Manhattanite. We're becoming fewer and fewer.
Never quite understanding how I can hear people yelling and Mr. Softee's siren call very clearly despite being 10 stories up.
It's going to be a transition and but what can ya do. I like to take solace in the fact that I'll always be a snobby (and as of this post, melodramatic) Manhattan kid no matter where I end up living. So in conclusion, fuck Manhattan for kicking us out. But fuck Queens more because it ain't Manhattan.
