Tuesday, August 16, 2005

I don't know how many of you live in the little post-Iron Curtain slice of electronics stores and meat markets that is Greenpoint, Brooklyn, the Polish outpost distinctive only from its Motherland by one's ability to pre-order a Carvel ice cream cake within its borders. It's not for everybody. Indeed, it can be singularly trying for those of us genetically pre-programmed with a deep, primal fear of Poles. This fear is by no means irrational. (see II, World War). Ben, recently arrived from the green and pleasant Netherlands, is having a particularly hard time with the adjustment.

"Why do all the women in this neighborhood look like prostitutes?" he asked one day, pausing in front a lurid display case filled with foundation undergarments and sausage.
"Because, sweetheart," I explained patiently, "All the prostitutes in Amsterdam are Polish."
(This is, in fact, not strictly true. Some are Surinamese.)

So, I like Greenpoint okay, but mainly because of the dollar stores, in which one can find everything from the no-name homoeroticism of not-Ken dolls dressed as security guards to My Little Pope playsets to jigsaw puzzles of dowtown Warsaw. What makes a heart soar higher than the sight of a majestic Polish eagle on a column gray stone? Well, most things, really. Perhaps the question is, what makes a heart sink less.

However, I am cheered of late by the sudden presence of hobos in our community. Yes, hobos.

More, after the break!

1 Comments:

Blogger Krista said...

My favorite quote/catchphrase from the ubiquitous Greenpoint drunks—“shut your mouth with that mouth.” This is closely followed by, “I am going to be honest with you, if I do not have a drink by 2 PM I will have a seizure.” They always make my walk home something special.

1:52 PM  

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