looking for home in brooklyn

it has been so long since i have last written, and as i look upon my last entry i realised that i was probably too hard on the establishment (is that possible?) i do not have it quite so bad as the superfriends do, even though it may feel that way sometimes. but they prove what i have come to learn, which is that even fighting the bad guys can be pretty dreary sometimes.

adjusting to new york has been a gradual and consistently difficult process made easier by my loveliest of company here but also difficult by my separation from people who i had close to me for such a long time. especially on windy and quiet nights like this one, i think of the first brisk autumn evenings we had on my porch in virginia drinking beer and watching the moon wax higher and redder. in the spring i remember going to the steps of the rotunda and holding our heads upside down to switch the starry sky with the green grass beneath it in our minds' eyes. you can always take those memories with you; they stay in your heart for as long as you'll have them. but it's impossible to impart them exactly to others you meet.

new york city life is an adjustment, but brooklyn is the happiest of mediums. it feels more like philly home, though the omnipresent traffic and black spots on the sidewalks remind you of the urban jungle gym which entraps you. but i can cruise around on my bike to local markets sporting the best and cheapest NY has to offer its hungry denizens. i can easily affix myself to either the hipster neighborhood to the west or the authentic Italian bastion to the east, where i have befriended longtime residents and neighborhood fixtures, like the two old guys from salerno who make the biggest and best ovoline di mozzarella i've tasted in the states. i've pretty much shunned the trendy "cafes" all around frequented by waify black jean-clad wannabe rockstars in favour of the pasticceria where i garnish more than a few stares from the old paesani, who warm up a bit when i reach over and insist to the girl behind the bar that i want a macchiato ristretto senza zucchero. it helps to know people. even the "Brooklynese" mass at the church across the street helps brighten my day.

went out for a crazy japanese meal the other night where our host was a japanese guy named Sonny who wore this purple sharkskin suit with blue paint streaks all over it and a glitter bowtie, and had spiky hair and a moustache. he actually looked like a neo-glam Asian fusion Sonny Bono and i wanted him to break out and sing I got you babe-san. anyway i ate like a school of raw fish and afterwards -- or rather in the middle -- i felt like this:


This post is philosophical and introspective-y.