Cold Brew Chronicles: Number 1
It’s a weird f-ing place. And yet, I find myself living here for the second time in almost as many years.
When I arrived in New York City for the first time, I was 18 years old. I landed at LaGuardia Airport around 11:00 pm on January 1st 2019, ordered an Uber, and got to my brother’s apartment a few minutes shy of midnight.
There were two memorable experiences I had my first few hours in New York. First, as we stopped a few blocks over from my destination, the Uber driver pulled off a bit to the side of the road.
“You mind if I stop to get out and take a picture?”
Having been to Long Island City, Queens before and remembering my first time seeing the skyline from across the East River, “Of course! It’s beautiful. Don’t you think?”
He got out of the car. Obviously, it being midnight made the image quite dark, but this is probably a bit what it looked like.
During the next 6 months, I’d spend almost every night walking along the wooden planks of Gantry State Park — most nights on the phone with Nadia, laughing about whatever nonsense my students had put me through that day at school.
Important context: I was in New York City as part of a program called City Year. I was essentially an in-class support for math students in 6th and 8th grade. I had a small group in each of those classes that I worked with more closely. Additionally, our team facilitated after-school programming Monday through Friday.
It’s unclear to me what was so memorable about that blip of time — the minor delay between my head and the futon couch I’d be sleeping on for the next few days until I ordered a bed.
The second memorable part of my evening had everything to do with a vegetable.
When I got into the apartment, I noticed a baking sheet of asparagus delicately balanced in the corner of the kitchen — the median of the sink bisecting the baking sheet…you know exactly what I’m talking about. That move that everyone whose ever taken something hot out of the oven, not had enough space on the counter or oven, and said “fuck it” and taken the risk that whatever food was on the baking sheet might fall into the sink.
Turns out, the asparagus was the prime suspect in an awful case of the stomach bug.
Zach needed ginger ale and saltine crackers. As Merideth Grey would say, “Stat!”
For some reason, I was nervous to walk the block or so to the 24/7 deli around the corner on Vernon Boulevard. Perhaps it was because I had not a hair on my chin, looked just over the age of 14, and was afraid the cashier would sooner believe I was a runaway, angry with my parents over a fight about bedtime and stocking up on provisions for my first night alone in the big city, than an 18 year old getting nature’s version of TUMS for his brother.
If you happened to read the Cold Brew Chronicles: Introduction, you’d know that I’ve made only one promise — a promise to limit my use of alliterations — and none else, certainly no promise to limit my use of em dashes.
I bring that up because there’s no roadmap for what I think this project might become. For probably 2 or 3 years now, I’ve considered some version of writing or podcasting or blogging type thing.
With what goal in mind? I’m not sure. But, New York and my relationship to New York has been something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. So, we’re going to start there.
New York is kind of like a — honestly, I could say a box of chocolates — but instead, I’m going to describe it with an image.
It’s like a corner store that sells Tropical Products, fresh meat, liquor, whatever you might find in a “food market”, and much more.
Often, it’s like having whiplash.
You wake up in the morning. Chilly. By lunch. Steamy and sweaty.
A dollar slice down a few storefronts from a restaurant where you can buy a $90 entree.
Poverty and wealth are neighbors.
And 8 million people are competent own-business-minders who walk faster, move more diligently, and speak with greater conviction than any collective I’ve ever experienced before.
But New Yorkers aren’t mean. That’s the one stereotype I’ve never understood.
New Yorkers are blunt. Often in a hurry. Afraid of missing their train because the subway is as*. But I would never say mean.
I know it’s cliche, and I’m immediately admitting that now, but I want to get better at living my life modeled after NYC — as if New York itself became a person, the qualities of its neighborhoods, transportation, etc. incarnate.
I want to sketch a timeline but become comfortable when it goes a bit off course. Like the L train when they were doing construction for 2 straight years and “running trains every half hour” — but in reality whenever they wanted to do so.
I want to be okay with a little bit of hectic — not overcome with anxiety from random fleeting thoughts. Like Astoria Park on a Saturday morning.
I want to take trips and learn more about the world. Like spending the evening in K-Town and the next morning at a pastry shop in Little Poland in Greenpoint.
New York is like a brand new experience every day. Let’s see where it goes.
One thing’s for sure. You want to learn about New York? Wherever two or more are gathered, each holding a cup that looks like this one, walk in, take a seat, slide your Airpods back into their case, and just listen.
