What More Could a Man Want Who Seeks a Complicated Life filled with Small Pleasures?

"I blew everyone's mind!" I said with excitement.

"Really?" my friend replied.

"Yeah, they couldn't believe the words I was spitting it out.  It was like I had everyone under my spell there."

"Listen," he paused for emphasis.  I knew what was going to proceed was going to be prolific coming from him, in the sense that someone who is usually reserved to making wise cracks, tries to push someone to understand the insignificance of their perceived accomplishment.

"Yes?"

"No offense, but you blew away a bunch of people in a sales position."  DAMN.  "It's not that you're not smart, it's that you have so much potential and being complacent is something you don't want.  Look at it as a short term fix."

He meant well.  I took no offense to any of it.  Why should I?  I know he's right, I knew this before he opened his mouth, but I might begin losing sight of why I was here..  The night ended and I can see he was somewhat distant.  He spent the greater part of the evening describing what he had to go through to get "where" he was.

Where was he?  

Living a lifestyle he wants.  Being paid his worth.  Being appreciated.  I believe he felt my excitement over my current "revolving door" job underscored the point he was trying to make to me.

"You need someone to give you a chance."

The night went on, we pounded a few beers (I think I might have had 6) and I said my good byes and began my walk to the subway to journey back to Brooklyn.  

What makes someone change?

It was all I could think of while I walked.  I looked at the magnificent buildings around me, wondering to myself what would it take to get here?  Do I need to change?  Does someone have to give me chance?  Can I will this into happening to me?  Is there a means to the end?

I wasn't depressed.  I don't get depressed anymore.  I spent too many years of my life feeling sorry for myself.  Even my friend's empathy was clawing inside me and turning into guilt.  Guilt because I don't want empathy.  Nobody should feel sorry for me.  I need to get to where I want to be on my own.  I still appreciate the encouragements and the votes of confidence.  If no one believed in me, then I don't know where I'd be.

I know what needs to be done, but I don't know the "how."  

I kept walking.  I sat on the train and meditated on the night which transpired.  I might have even sulked about it as well.  I made it this far.  I refuse to give up.  No more living in theory, now it's time to apply.

Taking a Stroll in the Rough Streets of Bay Ridge or the Streets Are All About Survival

I wake up.

My phone was ringing, I didn't bother picking it up. What time is it?

9:49 PM

Lame. I would've been better off staying asleep. God, it's nearly ten. I must've passed out after work. All I know is the day before I went to Manhattan, had a few drinks (okay, more than a few), almost got into a fight at the bar, wiped my roommates puke from a cab window, and got into a small argument a vocally challenged subway employee because I bothered to ask her what she said on the microphone. You see, in NYC, all of the employees who make announcements suffer from a physical condition called your-mouth-is-too-close-to-the-mic impairment.

It would probably have made for an entry on it's own, but instead it sets me up for the events that follow. I came home from that mess, slept for 3 hours, drank a red bull, walked into work dragging my feet (4th day on the job, mind you). Thankfully it was slow and I didn't have to wait on people much. I was still a little hungover and hungry. I got a slice of pizza from one of NYC's generic pizzerias on my way home, inhaled the slice, sat on the couch, blinked once, blinked twice, and now it's 10 o'clock.

I pretty much did nothing but watch TV for the next couple of hours. After wasting some time, I finally found the motivation to go shower. I finished and realized I was really hungry. I only ate one meal all day. I looked in the fridge for something, anything, to eat or drink.

The following items were in my fridge:

-beer

-mayonnaise

-mustard

-ketchup

-lemons

(If someone knows of a way to combine these into an awesome meal, let me know or leave a comment.)

I knew it was time to get out and scope the city for something to eat. It was time to walk the rough streets of Brooklyn. The streets don't intimidate me. I've been to the rough streets of Detroit and Flint plenty of times, behind the wheel of my car (doors locked, windows up). I can handle this. People don't know! People don't fucking know! I have an alter-ego named Rolo (I'm cashing in on the "candy bar" name fad) and I have a rich history of dealing with the streets through my viewing of rap videos and mafia movies.

I began my journey by walking up to 5th and 86th Street. I gotta get my paper (money) before I can get my grub on. After doing some hustling and throwing away my ATM receipt, I walked up to the Pizza Wagon. There was this tall Italian kid (about 20, maybe) spitting on the sidewalk giving me dirty looks. I held my ground and kept walking to the order window, about 20 feet to, he turned around to get his order. He must've had second thoughts (smart guy).

-I had to take this photo during the day, I would probably get whacked for taking pictures of the usual Italian patrons at night.

I was beginning to have second thoughts about walking in because I ate pizza earlier. I almost walked in there, but as I walked by I noticed the place was loaded with Italians. Usually I wouldn't give a fuck, but I had a feeling if I walked in it'd be like one of those scenes in the movies where the music stops and everyone turns their attention to you.

"Whatever, I already had a slice earlier today."

I continued onward, back toward 4th, where I noticed the B-Stop Deli still open. The "B" had to stand for "Break" as in breakdancer (B-Boy). I knew this might be a shadier place to walk in. I've seen Breakin' and Breakin' 2: Electric Bugaloo. This was going to be my biggest test since coming to Brooklyn. I had several outcomes projecting in my mind of my mother finding out about fate by a headline that read, "Man Beaten to Death by Well-Choreographed Street Thugs."

-Again, had I taken this picture at night, I wouldn't have came back alive.

I got on my cellphone walking up to the establishment to make it seem as though I was calling up my crew. I had to let these suckers know I meant business. Unfortunately no one picked up. After leaving a voicemail on my mom's cellphone ("Hi Mom! I'm just calling to see if you guys are up. I guess you're not. I bought a silk comforter today. I love you and tell Dad I love him, too!"), I decided I was going to walk in. The man in front of me ordered a sandwich really quick, "Pastrami, lettuce, tomato, on rye, swiss cheese, with mayo and mustard."

They must know him. Because he ordered it really swift and when he was done making the sandwich for the man, he tossed it to the cashier.

Now it was my turn.

"Can I jelp you?"

Lights, Camera, Action. My heart stopped. I knew I had to do this.

"Sir?" he asked again.

"Yes, I'd like a Turkey Club."

"What kind of bread you like?"

"Rye." He began making it. I knew it was almost over. It was too early to call this outing a success, but I knew the worst might be behind me . . . wait! I forgot to tell him what kind of cheese I wanted.

"Sir, can I have provolone with that?"

"There is no sheese on de club!"

"Can I add it?"

"No sheese. He does not come with sheese."

Damn. These streets ARE tough. I had a feeling, but I had to experience it first hand to know what Puff Daddy, MC Hammer, and Ice Tea were talking about. There was no way to change the rules of the game. The sandwich was going to made as specified by the menu and this Hispanic gangster sandwich maker controlled my fate.

I pulled my Ace. I gotta use street smarts.

"I'll pay extra for cheese."

"No sheese on the club. Does not include."

I started my way to the cooler to grab a Diet Coke. I felt defeated. Then he turns his head to me and says:

"You want sheese? You pay extra?"

"Yes, that's fine. Provolone please."

Finally, RESPECT. I got my street props. I grabbed some chips and walked over to the counter, but before I can pay for my the order, the sandwich maker signals something to the cashier.

I decided to play it safe. The last thing I need was to get hit by a drive-by on way back home. I announced to the cashier after he rang up my stuff:

"I added cheese to my sandwich."

"Is okay, he say no charge."

BOO-YA, I run the streets. I thanked them and walked back to my apartment. No broken bones or bullet wounds to mend. I survived another day. That's what life on the streets is about, survival.

Grind Times in Brooklyn

Somehow I ended up in Brooklyn. I spent the weeks prior to coming to NYC wondering where I'd live and somehow this is where I ended up. I live in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn.  It's a nice neighborhood.  If I had to take a guess, I'd say it's a mix of Arab, Italian, and with some Asian and Hispanic people.  Overall it seems predominately Italian.  I see plenty of the caricature "tough guys" we get exposed to on a daily basis on TV and they have names like Sal, Vinny, etc.

This is old world New York.  Not your Sex and the City chic NYC with fashionably hip people eating brunch with their circle of friends.  No, this is real deal Old World New York.  A part of the city that hasn't aged. There are plenty of archaisms here. It reminds me of my days in 7 mile Detroit with the old style heaters (valve included, as is the hissing that won't let me sleep), solid old school bath tubs, exposed wiring, hardwood floors, and solid walls caked with 10 layers of paint. 

It blows my mind it's still like this here, even in Manhattan.  You won't find a fan in the bathroom, central air, in wall phone jacks, LAN, etc. It has a strange old world charm to a place many think (and may even consider) the height of modern civilization.  This is as European as the US will ever get and I love every minute of it.

The shops are plenty old school as well. I had to look hard for a REAL supermarket, otherwise, everything is sold in specialty shops such as, meat shops (minus fish, that's for another store), bakeries, fruit stands, discount shops for your cleaning supplies, and so on and so on. 

One of my friends from Manhattan likes to call this place "guido central". I'm not sure if that's being unfair or if it's a stereotypical.  I looked it up on wikitionary.com and this is what they had to say:

Guido

1.   A male given name of Italian origin. English equivalent: Guy

2.  (slang, pejorative) a young, lower class or working class Italian-American or Italian-Canadian male from an urban environment. Carries the connotation of a person who is humorously uncultured and has a thuggish and overtly macho attitude and an unyielding pride in his Italian ancestry. Common in Northeast areas such as Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens, Staten Island, South Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Boston.

ummmm . . . yeah, we have some of those here for sure . . . 

I went out drinking on Saturday with my pint sized Ecuadorian roommate and everywhere we went there were the tough guys with the open shirts, the thick Brooklyn accent (hey, your bustin' my bawls), nearly the same haircut and clothing style for everyone out here, it's like they're handing out uniforms.  I feel like I'm in a foreign country.  I couldn't really get comfortable out here on my first night.  Oh, and I saw a fist fight, probably my second one since I came out here.  Not worried though, seems to be only between drunk Italians near the bars.  Crime rate here is low otherwise.

My sudden introverted tendencies kind of drove my roommate nuts as he wanted to get out, get fucked up, and get a taste of the local culture (he used to live in a shitty section of Brooklyn prior to moving out to Bay Ridge).  Oh well, I suppose next time I'll try harder to "blend" (I wish I could pull up that Marisa Tomei quote from My Cousin Vinny).  

I went for a walk today.  Probably walked about 20 blocks.  I took a deep breath, got a coffee, and realized, "I'm here.  I'm not in Michigan.  WOW."  Finally for some reason, it set in today.  I'm happy with this setup so far.  I probably have the biggest bedroom I've ever had in an apartment, I have a nice sized living room, a kitchen space (enough to fit a small table there).  I don't have to have a car to get around, I have all the necessities within walking distance.  I can take a train to Manhattan to hang out with some friends (new and old) if I need a change of scenery.  Best part, there's work here . . . OK, not the best work , but I can make a living here until I find the "dream job" I've always wanted.

More Pictures:

-My Kitchen (note to self: I should invest in a smoke alarm and an extinguisher)

Brooklyn pictures are sorely lacking.  I need to kick it up and take a few more.  I guess I didn't want to look like a tourist my first few weeks here.  I might edit this post and throw some in later on.

-First paycheck:  box spring and frame

Sorry for the mess, I have a bit of a bout of insomnia so I decided to write this post.  I managed to get a nice comforter and sheet set due to being close to some major discount retailer here in Brooklyn.  Otherwise, I definitely need more furnishings in my room.  Also, I haven't had internet for while and I'm "leeching" this from the neighbors, perhaps I'll post more once I get it sorted out (soon, I hope).

"If it ain't rough it ain't right."

- Richard Hamilton, Detroit Pistons guard