Archives for posts with tag: Brooklyn

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On a door on Grand Street at Bushwick Ave.

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I like to wear my shortest shorty shorts while waiting for the bus on Graham Ave in the middle of the night. Did that dude squatting down to look at our butts follow us from the L?

Must talk loudly on iphone while shopping for emergency grapefruits.

As the first drops of Irene fell Saturday morning everyone sprung into action. Hipsters throughout north Brooklyn, from Greenpoint to Bushwick, were up at the crack of ten to gather essentials. PBR, Red Bull, and American Spirits were flying off the shelves. Some people even bought produce that wasn’t organic.

After 11am the true scope of this storm was brought into sharp focus: Khim's was out of organic beets.

Can't believe they are closing down the subway. How am I gonna get to Ave. B to get my sleeve worked on?

Irene better not mess with my shiny new Vespa. Should I cover it or chain it down? Naw, Bro- It looks great.

Move to the big city and talk like a dolt.

Everyday, I hear 20-something loud talkers blundering their way through the language. Are declarative sentences now uncouth and no one told me? I hear voice after voice trailing upwards at the end of every sentence as if every utterance is a question. Or they communicate in vague phrases that only echo the information that they are trying to express. I witnessed a prime example of this needlessly opaque communication style last night at a local burger joint.

Now there is little excuse for confusion at a place with five things on the menu: Three burgers and two types of fries is all this place offers. But when the couple at the table beside me was served dinner, all inarticulate hell broke loose.

“Our fry situation, is, like, totally, reversed?!” said the young woman in the 60’s style print cotton dress and platform wedge peep toe woven straw sandals. Her face was contorted in disgust as if piles of rodents had just been delivered to her table.

The waiter had little response except for a look of confusion like the one I flash at my cat after he has squealed out a meow that is eerily similar to an English word.

The boyfriend was just starring at the baskets of dinner. Not trusting them now that his date was so upset, but not comprehending the meaning of her outrage.

She tried again while pointing at herself then her date, “I, like, didn’t want the sweet potato fries? But, like, he totally did?”

A light went on behind the waiter’s eyes and he grabbed for the baskets.

The boyfriend finally displayed his liberal arts college reasoning skills, “Naw, could we just swap sandwiches?”

“Oh, yah,” she agreed. They exchanged beef burger for fish burger and had the fries of their liking.

I should stop paying attention to others and just enjoy the view of this grape vine.

Why was it so difficult for these two to figure this out? Why even involve the waiter and why address him with such babble? She would have had a better chance of being understood if she were speaking pig Latin and she wouldn’t have looked as childish doing it.

A few minutes later when this same waiter brought my companion and myself our baskets of burgers and fries, he was still on edge from his earlier encounter and had slipped into non sequiturs. “I don’t know about the fries and stuff?” he tentatively asserted while placing the food in the middle of the table. Incoherence must be catching.