Experiments and Omens

In one last-ditch effort to blend into the neighborhood that is Williamsburg, I forewent washing my hair today. It was an inspired decision brought on by a combination of laziness and the odd looks I get at El Beit, a coffee shop on Bedford Avenue, for having obviously freshly washed, extremely wet hair. Where skinny black jeans had failed before, my slightly greasy hair succeeded. Though my super-smooth french press coffee didn't necessarily taste any better (it's pretty damn good to begin with), it was nice to not be stared at for maintaining basic hygiene.

Alas, this experiment will come to an end for two reasons. First, my head itches, and I have very little tolerance for discomfort of this nature. Second, I'm moving to greener pastures this Friday, where, yes, coffee shops still serve sustainably grown, organic, fair trade coffee in wasteful paper cups with plastic lids and cardboard sleeves, but where everyone appears to be freshly showered by 11:30 AM! They also appear to hold steady jobs, or at least feel obligated to appear friendly and ready for the day. In addition, these new neighbors of mine stay thin not by chain-smoking and shivering in the cold outside the eight hundred bars in the neighborhood, but by going to the gym, or, running outside. Perhaps the best thing about my new apartment in what is probably the second most yuppie part of Brooklyn, is that it's on the top floor, so I wont have to worry about crazy upstairs neighbors who throw combination stomp-karaoke-furniture moving parties at 2:00 AM each Wednesday. (I should mention here that my current sublet is actually quite nice, and my three roommates even nicer. It's just that the neighborhood is so not my speed - as you can see.)

There were, however, a couple odd omens this morning when I went to pick up my keys. First off, the G train arrived much too quickly, which made traveling to Bergen Street so easy as to catch me off guard. Then there was a crazy pigeon just hanging out on the exit sign above the platform. I assume he wanted the F train and was a bit irked by the abnormally efficient G. Then one of my favorite restaurants, Miriam's on Court Street, was on fire. OK, I didn't actually see any flames streaming from windows, reaching for the cold winter sky. But I did see three giant fire trucks, and many, many handsome firemen coming out of Miriam's, telling everyone everything was "OK now." Finally, when I went into a cute little bakery to have a pumpernickel bagel, there was an Andy Warhol look alike (face, clothes, hat, everything) sitting in the corner. He told me that he'd never seen me there before. And I said, "Well, I'm new to the neighborhood."