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in a way
posted Sunday, 25 September 2005
"No one hangs out in New York," I said to Allie. "That's part of the problem." She wanted to know why so many of her friends ended up hating the city and were so relieved when they left. I was throwing out theories and anecdotes to try to shine some light on the phenomena. She agreed, and we talked about how far apart people lived from their friends, how difficult it was to get from one borough to the next, or even from one part of Brooklyn to another. It was hard to drop by for an hour of drinking beer and hanging out if it took you an hour to get somewhere in the first place. So instead people met up in Manhattan, the middle ground, at bars, and it became something besides hanging out. Suddenly there's a tab to pay and other people to contend with and it's a night out instead of time in with your friends. This, we agreed, was part of the problem.
Last weekend some friends were hanging out in the city and I had drinks in the fridge and a t.v. playing some mindless entertainment schlock and so I decided to try to prove New York wrong. I called my friends up and invited them over, when they were done with what they had to do, and they took me up on my offer. We hung out without a destination and talked about whatever and it was purposeless and fun. It was what goes on in every other city, unremarked upon, but here it was an anamoly.
This weekend I wanted to keep it going, so on Saturday I went over to Jay and Jeff's house. There was a slight purpose this time; long ago, Jay had mentioned they had a CD burner hooked to their stereo and offered it up if I ever wanted to record any vinyl onto CD. Now that we were making high school mixes (the latest theme in our mix trades), it was time to take her up on it. I put a stack of seven inches in my bag, biked forty minutes from one part of Brooklyn to another, and spent the next few hours listening to records and playing with cats and drinking beer and talking about nothing and everything until it was time to get on my bike and ride home.
The streets were well lit and the cars sped by, but soon the night took over and I pedaled down tree-lined blocks and empty avenues in silence. In my bag was my music doubled, my records and a CD of my records, and the things we'd been playing still running through my head. And I was happy, in a way.
Last weekend some friends were hanging out in the city and I had drinks in the fridge and a t.v. playing some mindless entertainment schlock and so I decided to try to prove New York wrong. I called my friends up and invited them over, when they were done with what they had to do, and they took me up on my offer. We hung out without a destination and talked about whatever and it was purposeless and fun. It was what goes on in every other city, unremarked upon, but here it was an anamoly.
This weekend I wanted to keep it going, so on Saturday I went over to Jay and Jeff's house. There was a slight purpose this time; long ago, Jay had mentioned they had a CD burner hooked to their stereo and offered it up if I ever wanted to record any vinyl onto CD. Now that we were making high school mixes (the latest theme in our mix trades), it was time to take her up on it. I put a stack of seven inches in my bag, biked forty minutes from one part of Brooklyn to another, and spent the next few hours listening to records and playing with cats and drinking beer and talking about nothing and everything until it was time to get on my bike and ride home.
The streets were well lit and the cars sped by, but soon the night took over and I pedaled down tree-lined blocks and empty avenues in silence. In my bag was my music doubled, my records and a CD of my records, and the things we'd been playing still running through my head. And I was happy, in a way.