#19, Williamsburg, Brooklyn
It takes some arm-twisting to get me out to the aluminum-side enclave, hipster haven that is Williamsburg. (That's "Billyburg" to you, Jack, if you obey the language of the real estate trolls behind last year's truly awful ad campaign.) But since Magnetic Field on Atlantic Avenue closed last year, it seems there's little choice when seeking a bit of live music. And so Williamsburg, admittedly home to some great venues and galleries, has become a necessary evil in my life. Fortunately, not even mesh trucker hats and wooly white boots can distract me from the pleasures of vibrant graffiti that pop up in abandoned lots, shouting out from behind barbed wire. The vague anti-capitalist sentiment seems to be Marx-Engels for the sandbox set, but I'll take it over a Gap ad any day.
This 19 also appears very close to Hope & Havemeyer, an intersection with a name that sounds like a Tom Waits song waiting to happen. Maybe it's time to write it. I can see it all now now: a sliver of a moon. Stray cats hide in the shadows. A swishing snare and walking bass line begin. Then comes the gravelly voice: It was at the corner of Hope & Havemeyer . . .
It takes some arm-twisting to get me out to the aluminum-side enclave, hipster haven that is Williamsburg. (That's "Billyburg" to you, Jack, if you obey the language of the real estate trolls behind last year's truly awful ad campaign.) But since Magnetic Field on Atlantic Avenue closed last year, it seems there's little choice when seeking a bit of live music. And so Williamsburg, admittedly home to some great venues and galleries, has become a necessary evil in my life. Fortunately, not even mesh trucker hats and wooly white boots can distract me from the pleasures of vibrant graffiti that pop up in abandoned lots, shouting out from behind barbed wire. The vague anti-capitalist sentiment seems to be Marx-Engels for the sandbox set, but I'll take it over a Gap ad any day.
This 19 also appears very close to Hope & Havemeyer, an intersection with a name that sounds like a Tom Waits song waiting to happen. Maybe it's time to write it. I can see it all now now: a sliver of a moon. Stray cats hide in the shadows. A swishing snare and walking bass line begin. Then comes the gravelly voice: It was at the corner of Hope & Havemeyer . . .
1 comment:
*grin*
Some of this is a doorway to a strange culture for me: american and youth.
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