...just about anytime I read the comments section of any popular website.
Case in point: Brooklyn Vegan's post about the Staten Island Music Festival.
It's funny. Often when meeting someone for the first time here in NYC they will ask where I'm from, the assumption being that I'm a transplant. I'll reply that I'm a native New Yorker but then usually add "Well, actually I'm from Staten Island." Yet, the other day I met a guy who told me he was from Boston even though he was actually from Cambridge or somewhere. Which begs the question, why I am making qualifications? SI is legitimately part of New York City.
Being from Staten Island is kind of like having an asshole brother. It's okay for you to make fun of him but if anyone else does they're crossing the line.
Here was my response to the comments section hateration:
Not everyone in Staten Island is a Sopranos-wanna be with an orange tan.
Not everyone in Williamsburg is a hipster douchebag with a trust fund.
It's too easy derive a sense of superiority by painting the people of the world who are a bit different than you with broad strokes. At least half of the above commentators should be ashamed of themselves.
Staten Island may not have the grandeur or the concentrated young person populace of certain areas of Brooklyn. It does have some beautiful parks, cheap rents, a distinct lack of pretension and a whole lot of elbow room. It has it's flaws to be sure but I'm certain most of the elitist posturing is coming from those who have never stepped foot in the borough. Your cluelessness and need for acceptance is abundantly evident. Whomever you're trying to impress will see right through you.
Staten Island will be gentrified soon enough. Remember what Williamsburg was like 15 years ago? You don't? Oh that's because you've only been here for three. I hope your band/theater/art project works out and if not I hope you at least get laid a lot before you head back to your hometown. (Sorry. I couldn't resist.)
The other thing that makes me weep for the youth of America: A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila
Showing posts with label Staten Island. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Staten Island. Show all posts
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Patton Oswalt spent 20 days on Staten Island...
...and didn't think to call me once.
Between March 5th and today I spent a total of 20 days in Staten Island, NY.
FOUR separate times, while driving around late at night or, more often as not, when the dawn was breaking, I saw something weird through apartment windows.
Hold on. I just realized something.
I was able to glance through so many apartment windows as I passed because there seemed to be a lot of ground floor apartments. Motel-style apartment buildings with the doors just open to the street.
That might sound kind of dangerous, except for this fact:
Through four of the un-shuttered windows, I was able to see, hanging on walls...samurai swords. Japanese combat weapons, always more than one, arranged on mahogany racks and hung on the walls. Hanging, sharp and ready, in ground floor apartments in Staten Island.
Hummmmmmm-brrrrrrzap!
Shintauro Ishimura, Humble Blade and Righteous Strike of the Peony Court, suddenly appears in a mini-mall parking lot on Hylan Avenue in Staten Island.
"By the gods of blood and honor, I seem to have stepped into some sort of time-spasm, and been catapulted forward centuries, to a strange, frightening world of the future!"
"Holy fuck! A Jap in a dress! You look like that Crouching Dragon asshole I saw in the movie!"
"Citizen, this one would know what city I find myself in."
"This is Staten Island, Mr. Miyagi. And I ain't a citrus. I'm Tony."
"Why does the air smell like breaded pig?"
"''Cuz it's lunchtime."
"Is that your domicile?"
"What, you looking at my window? Yeah, that's my Pussy Palace."
"Am I correct in perceiving a ceremonial trio of combat blades on your wall?"
"Them ninja swords? Yeah, I won 'em at the fair. My cousin worked out this killer system for when you're shooting water in the clown's mouth to blow up the balloon on his head. I also won a beer mug that says, 'If it smells like fish, eat it.'"
"What is the magical, glowing window beside them?"
"That's my plasma screen."
"Are those gods which cavort within it?"
"It's DANCING WITH THE STARS. Those ain't gods, they're fags. And Penn Jillette."
"Citizen, this one fears that sky dragons are fast approaching. Truly, this is a land of dark wonders and glittering dangers. Will you join me in blooding steel with the un-righteous?"
"Uh...heh-heh. I guess that sounds cool. But my girlfriend...my GIRLfriend, right? Who I fuck all the time? She'd be pretty pissed if I just, uh...heh-heh...went off with you. I mean, I've got a GIRLfriend and everything, so I, uh...no. I can't. Okay, I gotta go."
"Citizen, you are unaware of your destiny..."
"I GOTTA GO. Okay? I gotta go. I can't...I'm not saying you're not strong...but...girlfriend. Girlfriend!"
"Take my hand..."
"I CAN'T! LEAVE ME ALONE! I HATE ALL FAGS!"
He runs to his SUV with the Black Crowes decal in the back window. For a moment, his flailing legs cause his cargo shorts to hitch up, revealing the phoenix-shaped birthmark on his left thigh.
But Shintauro is unable to see it. As Tony drives away, Judas Priest blaring on his stereo, a sky dragon materializes behind the time-lost samurai. As the sky-beast flares its flame-glands, Shintauro mutters a prayer to the Winter Sun and draws his blade.
Vincent Faurino, manager of the Male Ego hair salon, watches from his front window, and realizes his recurring dreams were prophecies.
If he would have called me, I would've told him that it's HYLAN BOULEVARD, not Avenue
To read the rest of this post Check Patton's myspace blog, May 10th entry. You may need a myspace account to view it. (Though since it's 2008, I'm sure you have one.)
Between March 5th and today I spent a total of 20 days in Staten Island, NY.
FOUR separate times, while driving around late at night or, more often as not, when the dawn was breaking, I saw something weird through apartment windows.
Hold on. I just realized something.
I was able to glance through so many apartment windows as I passed because there seemed to be a lot of ground floor apartments. Motel-style apartment buildings with the doors just open to the street.
That might sound kind of dangerous, except for this fact:
Through four of the un-shuttered windows, I was able to see, hanging on walls...samurai swords. Japanese combat weapons, always more than one, arranged on mahogany racks and hung on the walls. Hanging, sharp and ready, in ground floor apartments in Staten Island.
Hummmmmmm-brrrrrrzap!
Shintauro Ishimura, Humble Blade and Righteous Strike of the Peony Court, suddenly appears in a mini-mall parking lot on Hylan Avenue in Staten Island.
"By the gods of blood and honor, I seem to have stepped into some sort of time-spasm, and been catapulted forward centuries, to a strange, frightening world of the future!"
"Holy fuck! A Jap in a dress! You look like that Crouching Dragon asshole I saw in the movie!"
"Citizen, this one would know what city I find myself in."
"This is Staten Island, Mr. Miyagi. And I ain't a citrus. I'm Tony."
"Why does the air smell like breaded pig?"
"''Cuz it's lunchtime."
"Is that your domicile?"
"What, you looking at my window? Yeah, that's my Pussy Palace."
"Am I correct in perceiving a ceremonial trio of combat blades on your wall?"
"Them ninja swords? Yeah, I won 'em at the fair. My cousin worked out this killer system for when you're shooting water in the clown's mouth to blow up the balloon on his head. I also won a beer mug that says, 'If it smells like fish, eat it.'"
"What is the magical, glowing window beside them?"
"That's my plasma screen."
"Are those gods which cavort within it?"
"It's DANCING WITH THE STARS. Those ain't gods, they're fags. And Penn Jillette."
"Citizen, this one fears that sky dragons are fast approaching. Truly, this is a land of dark wonders and glittering dangers. Will you join me in blooding steel with the un-righteous?"
"Uh...heh-heh. I guess that sounds cool. But my girlfriend...my GIRLfriend, right? Who I fuck all the time? She'd be pretty pissed if I just, uh...heh-heh...went off with you. I mean, I've got a GIRLfriend and everything, so I, uh...no. I can't. Okay, I gotta go."
"Citizen, you are unaware of your destiny..."
"I GOTTA GO. Okay? I gotta go. I can't...I'm not saying you're not strong...but...girlfriend. Girlfriend!"
"Take my hand..."
"I CAN'T! LEAVE ME ALONE! I HATE ALL FAGS!"
He runs to his SUV with the Black Crowes decal in the back window. For a moment, his flailing legs cause his cargo shorts to hitch up, revealing the phoenix-shaped birthmark on his left thigh.
But Shintauro is unable to see it. As Tony drives away, Judas Priest blaring on his stereo, a sky dragon materializes behind the time-lost samurai. As the sky-beast flares its flame-glands, Shintauro mutters a prayer to the Winter Sun and draws his blade.
Vincent Faurino, manager of the Male Ego hair salon, watches from his front window, and realizes his recurring dreams were prophecies.
If he would have called me, I would've told him that it's HYLAN BOULEVARD, not Avenue
To read the rest of this post Check Patton's myspace blog, May 10th entry. You may need a myspace account to view it. (Though since it's 2008, I'm sure you have one.)
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