Friday, May 18, 2012

Who are the people in your neighborhood?


     I haven't lived in one place for more than 5 years since I was living with my mother as a child. When I was a child we moved a lot. No that's not quite right. We moved often. I remember moving 3 times before I was 10. Sometime before or could be after I turned 10 I moved to Danbury Connecticut. I lived there till I was 18. Since then I have lived in 3 of the 5 boroughs of New York City in no less than 9 different places. I've also lived in Aniston, Alabama,  Schwabisch Gmund Geermany,  New Orleans, Los Angeles and San Fransico and unless you're in the Army that's a lot. 

          Now, every place I go now, it feels like I've been there before. It might have something to do with the fact that I once worked for Amtrak and I've seen some part of just about every state that Amtrak goes through. There is one thing that differentiates all these places from one another. It's the people

            People like the woman who lived next door to me in Danbury. She had enough kids to fill the infield of Yankee's Stadium. They were always home and they were always loud. They would fight, yell, scream and listen to music at decibel levels that would rival anything that Boeing makes. Sometimes I would sit on the stairs and just listen. Listen to the fights over the last piece of chicken, who drank all the Kool Aide or a scuffed pair of new Adidas shoes that someone wore without permission. When all the fighting was over someone would leave. On the way out they would ask their mother for some money. She would always claim not to have any but they knew better. They would persist till she reached into her bra and withdrew 5 dollars from Titty City savings and loan.  It was many things in their house but one thing it never was, was boring.  
          
         They made me feel lucky to have the family that I do.

           When I was 18 I joined the ARMY. I did my all my training at Fort Mcclellan in Aniston, Alabama. I never got to see all that much of Aniston. I'm sure that it's lovely once you drive past the tattoo parlors, car dealerships and pawn shops all there to separate young soldiers from their money.


             I met a cross section of America at Fort Mcclellan. Like the sergent who said in a barely comprehensible souther accent "I am sergent so-and-so and I'm here to instruct you in ... (something, what ever it was he was talking about I don't remember). I am from L.A. ......That's right I am from lower Alabama." Then there was one of my drill sergents who, after being told "Good morning drill sergent!" responded b y saying "Hmmph, oh yeah? What's good about it?". Most of that day is a lost memory but I will never forget that moment. When ever someone says to me, "Good Morning" I flash back to that moment in time and say....


         The things I remember most about Fort Mcclellan had nothing to do with the ARMY. It had everything to do with that first shower once I got to basic training. I think his name was was Kennedy. Up until that date he had the biggest penis I had ever seen on a human. It hung half way to his knee and was thick like a toddlers leg. I was a dear caught in headlights. A few weeks later he told me that he wanted to put that thing in me. I walked away my head reeling in disbelief and in fear of the damage that thing would do internal organs.


          I have never had more fun or been drunker than I have when I lived in Germany. I once bought a bottle of scotch at a gas station in Stuttgart. I don't know why I bought it because I hate scotch. So there I was walking down the koenigstrasse (it means king street and is one of if not the biggest shopping streets in Stuttgart) where I ran into a group of kids hanging out and being a public nuisance. I guess I bought the bottle of scotch for them because they were more than happy to drink it with me. I got to exercise my German and they got to drink for free.

           I loved living in Germany. It was one of the best times of my life. It wasn't just the drinking or the partying that I did in excess. It was the owner of the ice cream parlor who always said hello to me and remembered that I liked banana and strawberry, spagetti ice (it's a gelato like ice cream that's put through a press and extruded. It looks like spagetti and is topped with a fruit topping resembling a sauce). It was the way the people would patiently listen to me butcher their language while trying to ask a question and then answering me in English. It was the way they treated me when I walked into a store and would look me in the eye and not follow me around as if I were going to steal something. It was the friends that I made and the food that I came to love. It was all of the people of Schwaibisch Gmund Germany. Some of the best neighbors I have ever had.

          I don't know if you've ever lived in New York City, but if you have, you'd know that apartments can be incredibly small. My first place in the city was no exception. It was a 2 bedroom shoe box on the corner of 12th and avenue A. The bathroom was in the kitchen. There was almost no counter space and the rooms were so small that I couldn't close the door once you put your futon down. That is if the bedrooms had a doors. There were no doors in the apartment unless you count the ones on the oven and the refrigerator. It was a 3rd floor walk up, it had drafty windows  and lets just call it a insect problem that took me weeks to get in front of. There was one good thing about my apartment, the neighborhoods.

          My neighbors were loud. I mean really loud! Keep you up all night long loud. Walk up stairs and bang on the door loud. Well, I would have walked upstairs and banged on the door If I had, had the balls. My next door neighbors were loud too, in a good way. They watched TV all the time and they liked it loud. What's good about that, you ask? I watch TV all the time. Sometimes they would be watching something that I didn't know was on but wanted to watch and change channels. I remember thinking that someone should come up with a stereo TV or something. Some of my neighbors fought or drank or did drugs. One even got killed on his way into the building (At least I think he was killed. I came home from a night of heavy drinking and there were police milling about, police tape blocking off the entrance and a lot of blood on the stoop.). More than anything else my neighbors were poor hard working people just trying to make rent.

          Have you ever been to New Orleans? If you have, you know that it's the drinkingest city in America. Did you know you can buy alcohol 24/7 in New Orleans? A few of my neighbors did. They always had something to dink. They drank at every meal, at every occasion, everyday and you know what? I wouldn't have had it any other way! Corky and Mark were their names and they were the best alcoholic friends you could have... most of the time. They would have little get togethers for no good reason at all. They would serve the perennial New Orleans favorites red beans and rice, king cake and drinks in plastic red cups. Then they would forget most of what happened and rely on others to fill in the gaps.

          They were the exception and not the rule. New Orleans residents are great people. They say hello when you walk down the street and ask how you're doing. They take the time to get to know you. They will offer to help in time of need and make you feel glad your there. There's no place like it on earth.
     
To be continued.....