Hip City Kids vs. Children of the Corn

I think about the future often. Especially when it comes to topics regarding career goals, family and LOCATION. I know I don't want to live in a big city forever, but I doubt I could ever go back to living in a town of 600 people. It's beautiful and clean and friendly and spacious and inviting, but so... so...isolated. (I feel like a complete snob saying that, but it's true).

A few months ago, while mentally comparing my wholesome, sheltered youth to the crazies and scam artists of New York, I casually thought aloud to one co-worker, "You know, I could never raise my children in the City." Little did I know she grew up in Brooklyn. She had also been subjected to this very comment numerous times over the course of her life, and this time she wasn't going to take it lying down. The fuse had officially been lit.

Do children enjoy a better quality of life in the city, the suburbs, or rural communities? What an interesting debate!

Our conversation was pretty heated; I was on the receiving end of more than one insinuated jabs about us country kids spending all our time getting drunk and drugged out at pit parties. (Pit Party: a party which takes place in remote locations such as woodsy areas and dirt roads, thus minimizing interference from local authorities. In the case of a police bust, the accomodating forests double as excellent cover from search lights). Her argument was simple: because there is so little to do in the country, teens are more apt to spend their time experimenting with booze and drugs. She added, children have more opportunities in larger cities by virtue of their easy access to larger school systems and college preperatory high schools.

So here's my deal. I wouldn't trade my childhood years in Timbuktu, WI, for a million city opportunities. I love that one of my earliest memories entails me skipping down the road, completely broke out with the chicken pox, excited to see cows. Just cows. And I love that my school bus driver was the sweetest red-haired lady, who, when irked by the naughty boys, would throw them in a garbage can. I love that I not only know how to hail a cab, but also how to skin a deer and drive a forklift. I love that there were only 8 kids in my grade school class, and that three of them were cousins (I still remember most of their birthdays). I love that we had a huge playground surrounded by fields, not the fenced-in parks of NYC which remind me of dog runs. I love that our favorite game growing up was not Super Nintendo, but a game called "Orphans" in which we pretended to live under a bridge a la the Boxcar Children. I love that we kept the key to our house on a pink shoelace under a window 10 feet from the door. I love that most of my town idolized the Green Bay Packers because THAT was the only thing to do. And of course, there were drawbacks, and I did get bored sometimes, but that's life.

When I did enter the real world, it was (and continues to be) a rude awakening. And in most cases, that's a good thing. Until high school, I had no idea there were religions in the world beyond Catholicism and Lutheranism, mainly because I didn't get the exposure to diversity most city kids get. And I'm still prone to scams and scammers because I am so inherently trusting of other people. BUT! I'm learning. I sometimes wonder what my life would be like now had I grown up in the city, but truth be told, it really doesn't bother me that I'll never get to find out.

Welcome to New York

In January of '07, I came to the sudden conclusion that I was going to move to New York. I can't pinpoint what prompted this move other than a guy who ruffled my feathers by standing me up on New Years Eve. I was also employed as a hostess at Red Lobster, hastening a desire to move as far away as possible. Wasting little time, I found an apartment (a glorified closet, but MY glorified closet) through craigslist.com a few weeks prior to graduation. I graduated May 13 and was in the City by the 15th. I had an interview scheduled on the 16th. *For a job I didn't get. Long story short, I spent a month applying for jobs while roving from one apartment to the next, never staying for more than a few weeks. My first apartment was a studio shared with two other people...SWEET. However, by the time my birthday came around in late June, I was officially employed (yay!) and had acquired a nice sublet in Brooklyn. In all, I moved 8 times between May '07 and May '08. Through baby sitting and other odd jobs, I managed to get by on pita bread, PB & J sandwiches, and generous wads of cash from parents oblivious to the miniature scratches up and down my arms.



My bedroom in my Syracuse apartment. Spacious and accommodating, this about the same size as my first studio apartment in Manhattan. Shared by two other people, of course. We had bunk beds, and I shared the top bunk with my 30-year-old roommate, Sky. The bottom bunk was occupied by Leopard Boy, so named for his favorite underwear print. Said LB occasionally brought home women after a night on the town. Sometimes, I'd precariously descend the top bunk in the morning, trying not to fall to my death, only to find LB in the clutches of someone lying passed out and topless.



My roommate Sky. She didn't want her picture taken so she used her laptop as a shield. About one week into this living situation, I knew I needed out. "Let me take your picture for my cellphone," LB jibed, one of a serious of red flags coming from that direction. Thus begins the story of my new roommate, Psycho Cat Wench. PCW, a 60-year-old dance instructor, insisted on walking around clad in her underwear 24-7. Granted, we didn't have air conditioning, be we had only known each other for a few days! Also in spite of a fairly curvaceous figure (”curvaceous” is generous, trust me). In exchange for free rent, I took care of her cat for three weeks while she was out of town for a dance camp. She insisted that I establish a very tight bond with “Kitty.” I’m not a huge cat person so this became a slight problem for both of us. I slept in her daughter’s lofted bed for three weeks while fully entrenched in the job search.




Yup, that’s me in there. I was drying my sheets using the cheapest method possible. When PCW came back from her dance trip I was dogsitting a German Shepherd at a different apartment in the same building. I was supposed to move back into her apartment a week later. She had different ideas. Apparently I took over her apartment with a “sense of entitlement,” code for cleaning everything and buying dish towels. She promptly placed the towels and other gifts (four placemats, two soap dispensers) in a pile, along with my personal possessions, and told me to move out. I had to find a new apartment in two weeks.



Verne! Sweet, lovable Verne without a care in the world. I was staying with her while franticly scanning the craigslist ads for a new apartment. I found this awesome sublet in Brooklyn.




Note the cardboard boxes conveniently filling in for real furniture. I moved in with two attractive female roommates in their late 20’s, and lived 15 minutes away from the trendy Williamsburg neighborhood. Other than the absence of air conditioning, life was good. Unfortunately, it was only a sublet until Sept. so I had to find another place. So I moved to a cheap apartment in Bed Stuy. I had my own room, but also two odd roommates — one male who slept on a blanket on the floor, and the other a chain smoking female from St. Thomas (the island, not the school) who lit up doobies from time to time. If that smell didn’t completely overtake me, the smell of cat pee did. My predecessor kept her cats in the closet. So I paid a professional carpet cleaner to douse the carpet... within a few days, the smell was back. Despite numerous requests for the roommate to smoke outside, she smoked in her room, saying it was too cold outside. Luckily, my previous roommate Sky saved me from this horrible living situation. She was looking for a second roommate for a one-bedroom in Hells Kitchen Manhattan. Hells yes. I moved in almost immediately.



I slept in the living room. Two awesome money-saving moves of 2007: I sold my old MacBook for $700 on craigslist.com, and a coworker gave me this box spring mattress free of charge (excluding shipping). I have since moved again for various reasons — lack of space and privacy being among them — but I am not at liberty to disclose those details... ;) I can say I’m quite content where I am now and so grateful I made it this far. Thus ends my rambling note about my start in this great city. Freightened much?