It's becoming increasingly difficult to go out in New York anymore...or at least I don't know where to go that I fit in. Perhaps this is further indication my time here is winding down? I don't know. I'm not sure where I belong anymore. But you guys....last night. The peoples were crazy. We were in the back room of a bar, enjoying the awesome Skee-Ball and Big Buck Hunter Safari (YES!) machines when a scream announced the arrival of a plethora of assholes. Young, overly-made up and desperate for attention assholes. Dressed in leather and leopard, sporting the most depressing pair of fake boobs I've ever seen on someone so young (my guess is 23-24) and the worst part....filming each other posing and screaming against the machine. It was so depressingly pathetic. A constant barrage of "Look at me!" and we certainly did...but for all the wrong reasons. Idiotic film students? Or young trustfund types pretending to be slumming it, running amok with Daddys money? Whichever type, they are here a-plenty. They arrive loudly, often hopped up on coke, with no manners and tons of fringe or animal print. I call these Pocahotmess. And sadly, they have overrun so many neighborhoods in my beloved city.
Popped collars and a strange sense of desperation and domination pollute the air uptown. The young professionals (so young!) on both the east and west sides partner up for the night and make a clean break in the AM. I refer to these as the day-to-night traders. So many bars up here look to re-create the college experience too - beer pong for everyone! - that it seems logical to be stuck in a more juvenile mindset. It's like Never-Never Land in a swanky zipcode.
Midtown is for tourists.
West village, Hells Kitchen and Chelsea belong to the gays.
I've even branched out to other boroughs. Bars in the Bronx by Yankee Stadium. Local watering holes in Sunnyside, Astoria and Jackson Heights weren't bad, but that was where I got my drink spiked, so understandably I'm a bit weary.
In Brooklyn (Williamsburg in particular), it's come see my band, show or indie film, here's my card. It's like American Psycho in plaid shirts instead of suits. There is so much hustle there.
This guy is pretty much everywhere. He is the omni-present Everyman, with his bike, plaid shirt, and incomprehensible tattoo. And of course he is a writer. OF COURSE he is. From the way the sun lights on his rumpled person, I can see he is sensitive and tortured.
Do I sound bitter? I don't mean to. Like I said previously, I'm just not sure where I belong anymore. Meeting new people here is really hard, and when you're 30 and not in school anymore it adds an extra layer of "where? what now? with whom?" to the mix. Maybe I'm outgrowing New York? Can you even do that? I feel like there's so much left to experience here, a lot to learn and appreciate. Only time will tell.
