Ch-ch-ch … Aw, Man, I Love Bowie, But I Just Can’t

My neighborhood is changing. When I moved in, as you may recall, my doorman was a junkie named Floyd who showed his neighborhood loyalty by not mugging me on my way to work. The street was largely deserted. There was a glass shop, and a couple of restaurant supply places, and a lot of construction around a new yuppie apartment building on the corner.

Now we have two art galleries, a bunch of nightclubs, and Floyd is gone.

This is good stuff, I guess, or will be until it’s time to renew my lease: “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to charge you a junkie removal surcharge. It’s city law.”

Speaking of which, I got my tax crap the other day and I have given the city of New York over 700 dollars in taxes since I moved here full-time in June. JEEZY-CREEZY. I better never see a pothole, is all I have to say.

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14 thoughts on “Ch-ch-ch … Aw, Man, I Love Bowie, But I Just Can’t

  1. The 700 dollars in taxes has a lot more to do with the condo on the corner than it does potholes.

    And junkie removal is usually free. Those sorts of people tend to burn themselves up long before anyone actually cares enough to remove them.

    So who is your new doorman?

    And I still say viagra ads are better than sobriety checks!

    Since I’m on a friend’s machine you’ll have to do without my trademark weblink tonight. Sorry. Maybe I’ll give you an interesting Ogrish link later or something.

  2. The 700 dollars in taxes has a lot more to do with the condo on the corner than it does potholes.

    And junkie removal is usually free. Those sorts of people tend to burn themselves up long before anyone actually cares enough to remove them.

    So who is your new doorman?

    And I still say viagra ads are better than sobriety checks!

    Since I’m on a friend’s machine you’ll have to do without my trademark weblink tonight. Sorry. Maybe I’ll give you an interesting Ogrish link later or something.

  3. More important than your money is your baseball loyalty. Until you give the NYY your soul, you’re okay.

    Oh, man, Jen, last night? In my dream? (I know, other people’s dreams, but this one involves you) … lemme back up and say I’ve been doing this policy research on indoor smoking bans, for public health and equity and blah blah blah goodpolicycakes. Anyway, you were this detective that — smoker that you are — went around DC, staking out violators with your sidekick team, Mr. and Mrs. P.

    I guess this story would make even less sense than it already does if (a) I didn’t know all three of you and (b) I hadn’t accidentally had a bottle of chardonnay.

  4. Oh my God! I would totally love to be a detective with you! You and John and I should open our own PI firm. You could be the talker, John the muscle, and me, well, me, uh, I’m cute.

  5. Wait,wait. I should be on the team. At one time I thought of being a detective. I think I was stalking some guy or other at the time. My point is that I am much older and wiser now and no one ever suspects me of anything. I could totally get them all to divulge their darkest secrets. And best of all I work for Chardonnay!
    Love, Ma Smash

  6. Oh wow, what a great idea! Everyone talks to Mom! And she’s so sweet, no one would ever suspect her. I think we have something here.

  7. Can I be Huggy Bear? You know, the bizarre, wannabe side kick? Don’ think I’d make much of a PI, as I can’t keep bullshit stories straight in my head long enough to convince a cop to eat a donut, but I could give people the evil eye whilst you spun the tale? Works on junkies and panhandlers in Boston, anyway.

  8. Oh definitely. You and John can be the muscle together. You’ll just stand in the background looking menacing, while Mom and Jennie do the talking. I still haven’t figured out what I’m good for. Maybe I could show some leg?

    See what you’ve started, Karabara?

  9. Oh, I couldn’t be happier that the ENTIRE Hubley clan is forming a detective agency. Is there some sort of … finder’s fee? You know, forget it. It’s enough to see y’all so happy. And sleuthy.

  10. Um, not to “pull rank” here… but compared to the early ’90s, the LES has been Disney World for a long time now. I did Habitat for Humanity in High School, down on East 8th street, on a block I can’t afford to live on now… I wouldn’t have been caught dead there after 6pm at the time. Now, I just can’t get reservations at the cash-only boite du moment.

    Changes are a fundamental reality… sometimes they are for the best. To the guy who’s rent controlled upstairs from you, Floyd was a mere reminder of a hint of things past.

  11. I don’t have rules for my comments section, but if I did, it would be that anyone who begins their comment with “um” would get slapped with a salami. Tsk, tsk, dear. No one likes to be patronized.

  12. Indeed, no one does like to be patronized. I suppose the rank has inded been pulled in the sandbox, and we’ve been reminded who the toys belong to here.

    Forgive my “um.” I will forgive you being patronizing while attaching an air of victimization to yourself. It takes a bit longer than six months for most folks not to find people talking about the “old days” somewhat absurd.

    It was, for what it might be worth, an attempt to temper what might be seen as chiding. Perhaps I might have spared the both of us that artifice.

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