[reprinted from my blog: http://www.aroncohen.us]
Coming back to Westchester is quite the interesting experience. Its like watching an old movie that you used to be obsessed with, but forgot about, and decided to pop-in and watch one afternoon.
One thing that really stands out is that my new life in Boston isnt new, its just normal. Living in Westchester isnt normal. Its quite the opposite. Life there seems to be a terrible by-product of being the bedroom community people who run the biggest, most influential city in the most powerful country in the world. Let me first say, unlike L.A., there is plenty of there in the NYCMA, but unlike L.A. there is no definite identity. The New Yorker idealtype only exists in Woody Allens sick fucking mind. The New York I grew up in, is a mix of every part of the country rolled into one festering megalopolis.
Take for example White Plains.
It used to be a typical New York suburb now it is all of the following: a city center, a poor minority slum, a rich white suburb and a faceless member of the urban sprawl pantheon. The master planners did it, they made White Plains the truly anonymous American City. If you were dropped right in the middle of this city of 100K+ people, you wouldnt know where the hell you are. There is a there there, but there is no here there. At least in comparison L.A. has a culture.
How did this happen to White Plains?
I think it has something to do with the major commercial outlets coming in and supplanting the NY urban decay that used to exist along what is now MLK Blvd. You know, before Urban Renewal and 20 new malls.
Let me give you an example of what a night out in bustling White Plains is like. I went to a pub in White Plains with a bunch of kids I went to High School with. The pub named James Joyce seemed like it might be a throwback to the places I usually frequent in Boston. The little bars cum pubs that recent Irish immigrants create to remind themselves of their stupidity for leaving their country. Nope. It wasnt that.
Oh sure it looked like that. Wait, no it looked better. Not more authentic, just better, like what you expect a Disneyfied version of something looks like. But thats where the pub ended. We walked into the pub and were assaulted by Hardhouse beating through the P.A. and all-to-wall with meatheads doing their meathead dance. Oh yes, I was home. For those of you not familiar with this term, it is someone who takes steroids to become gigantic and muscular, only for the reason to be gigantic and muscular and to get laid. and he is really stupid.
I wanted a Smithwicks.
The bartended looked flabbergasted that anyone would drink that here tonight. You see, James Joyce is usually a restaurant, that serves Irish knock-off food Disneyfied food. They have Smithwicks, its just that everyone else is drinking Bud.
I drank only some of my Smithwicks before some early-twenties meatheadette (small, equally as stupid women with big boobs who are usually overly dressed, overly made-up and date only meatheads) shoved her ass in my face. I was 2 inches from thong strap.
Granted, if I wanted thong strap I would have gone to a titty bar. I wanted a Smithwicks.
Thats not the point. The point is that the experience left me wondering. What is Westchester? Well the answer is simply: Meatheads, the women who fuck them and faces full of ass.
I now know, if I want reality, Ill live in Boston. If I want absurdity, Ill move back to Westchester.
Coming back to Westchester is quite the interesting experience. Its like watching an old movie that you used to be obsessed with, but forgot about, and decided to pop-in and watch one afternoon.
One thing that really stands out is that my new life in Boston isnt new, its just normal. Living in Westchester isnt normal. Its quite the opposite. Life there seems to be a terrible by-product of being the bedroom community people who run the biggest, most influential city in the most powerful country in the world. Let me first say, unlike L.A., there is plenty of there in the NYCMA, but unlike L.A. there is no definite identity. The New Yorker idealtype only exists in Woody Allens sick fucking mind. The New York I grew up in, is a mix of every part of the country rolled into one festering megalopolis.
Take for example White Plains.
It used to be a typical New York suburb now it is all of the following: a city center, a poor minority slum, a rich white suburb and a faceless member of the urban sprawl pantheon. The master planners did it, they made White Plains the truly anonymous American City. If you were dropped right in the middle of this city of 100K+ people, you wouldnt know where the hell you are. There is a there there, but there is no here there. At least in comparison L.A. has a culture.
How did this happen to White Plains?
I think it has something to do with the major commercial outlets coming in and supplanting the NY urban decay that used to exist along what is now MLK Blvd. You know, before Urban Renewal and 20 new malls.
Let me give you an example of what a night out in bustling White Plains is like. I went to a pub in White Plains with a bunch of kids I went to High School with. The pub named James Joyce seemed like it might be a throwback to the places I usually frequent in Boston. The little bars cum pubs that recent Irish immigrants create to remind themselves of their stupidity for leaving their country. Nope. It wasnt that.
Oh sure it looked like that. Wait, no it looked better. Not more authentic, just better, like what you expect a Disneyfied version of something looks like. But thats where the pub ended. We walked into the pub and were assaulted by Hardhouse beating through the P.A. and all-to-wall with meatheads doing their meathead dance. Oh yes, I was home. For those of you not familiar with this term, it is someone who takes steroids to become gigantic and muscular, only for the reason to be gigantic and muscular and to get laid. and he is really stupid.
I wanted a Smithwicks.
The bartended looked flabbergasted that anyone would drink that here tonight. You see, James Joyce is usually a restaurant, that serves Irish knock-off food Disneyfied food. They have Smithwicks, its just that everyone else is drinking Bud.
I drank only some of my Smithwicks before some early-twenties meatheadette (small, equally as stupid women with big boobs who are usually overly dressed, overly made-up and date only meatheads) shoved her ass in my face. I was 2 inches from thong strap.
Granted, if I wanted thong strap I would have gone to a titty bar. I wanted a Smithwicks.
Thats not the point. The point is that the experience left me wondering. What is Westchester? Well the answer is simply: Meatheads, the women who fuck them and faces full of ass.
I now know, if I want reality, Ill live in Boston. If I want absurdity, Ill move back to Westchester.