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Alrighty, we’re here. I’m writing a newsletter. And YOU signed up for it. Thank you. I’m no Hemingway, but I’ll be as Ernest as possible.
I moved to New York City in February, subletting with my girlies in the Upper East Side to see if living here was all it’s cracked up to be. Turns out, it’s cracked — and so am I. My girlfriend Meera and I moved to Bushwick in June.
For my non-New Yorkers, Bushwick is a big neighborhood in north/central Brooklyn with a majority Hispanic (and immigrant) population but has been gentrifying at an Olympic-qualifying pace. Some people say it’s already gentrified, but — although the 20-something babies aren’t going anywhere — there isn’t a Whole Foods yet. It’s pretty common to see a Hispanic family walking down the street with two white, mid-20s friends not far behind. That’s a pretty good metaphor for the neighborhood’s trajectory, no? I wanted to live near my friends in an apartment I could make cozy with fun businesses nearby to throw my money at. How much should gentrifiers be blamed for astronomical housing prices? Should yuppies like myself be moving to an already white neighborhood like Murray Hill that has other semi-affordable apartments? I don’t know these answers and will revisit this idea often in these pink boxes (plus, I’d like to know what you think).
Bushwick transplants skew alternative. Depending on your taste, they either dress like they’re fresh off the runway or like they don’t know what washing machines and showers are. Not all of them are white by any means, and plenty are queer. All this young gayness makes Bushwick feel like the precipice of culture. Sometimes I walk around my warehouse-lined block that would probably make my grandmothers puke and think, I am at the epicenter of what’s happening in the world!
A lot of my friends here are very creative people. They make art, they perform, they just put themselves out there. I find that very admirable and hard to do. I was more creative when I was younger, but I’ve gradually corporate-ified what used to be vulnerable expressions. Making up stories for my Pokémon figurines to act out turned into writing and illustrating books from printer paper. I found journalism in high school and realized I could turn my affinity for storytelling into a career. I burned out of local TV news like a supernova and phoenixed as a digital strategist (no, I don’t know what that means, either).
The worlds I built with my writing were too expansive for the short articles I produced when news broke. The singing that took up my extracurriculars downsized to the shower. The intricate doodles lining my schoolwork are gallery worthy compared to my current Instagram stories. I know this is a common struggle for people growing up in a capitalist system blah blah…but I’ve become boring.
Maybe “boring” is the wrong word. My life is the most interesting it’s been. I live in the city I’ve always romanticized. I fill my schedule with new experiences while relishing my routines. I believe the meaning of life is found through connecting with others and finding various forms of love. By my own definition, I’m living a meaningful life. Cue the end credits!
Except — lest we forget — the younger version of me with big dreams can be a nag. I’m not one of those I am healing my inner child people, but she is worth mentioning. She imagined this version of me that toils deep into the night on an inspirational project. I thought I lived a version of that lifestyle at my news job that I left around 11:30 every night, and I was too tired to bring good into the world. I could make an argument on how my digital strategy gig does provide a service because the magazines I work for inform people and will hopefully will do better on the Internet with my…strategizing. However, my creativity in building websites, social posts, and newsletters is siloed through a corporate aesthetic. I haven’t been expressing myself because I do not have the energy or perspective to bring something emotional into the world.
Besides, being a real creative is something I cannot imagine doing. Having a day job with a time-consuming passion on the side? Having no consistent income stream and being creative full-time? On top of that, I’ll remind you that I do not have a strong, unique perspective. My perspective is unique in that it’s mine, but there are plenty of loud, young, bisexual, NY-transplant Jews that think they have something to say. Me committing completely to creativity would be like that one girl in high school pitchily singing with all sorts of bravado and producing a cringe result.
Yet despite not having the talent or drive to be artsy 24/7, it would be a waste of a precious life to not contribute something to my community (or, at the very least, my friends). I cannot solve the world’s injustices, which leaves me with what’s clearly the next best thing: committing to developing a weekly newsletter.
Why a newsletter? My gorgeous friend Andjelija has a lovely newsletter “Brain Dump” that I read in her voice and usually reply to like a true grandfather. Besides, I build and write newsletters for a living. This product is the easiest answer to What can I do creatively? I have always favored writing about myself instead of more high-brow topics. This space serves as an opportunities to do two of my favorite activities: debriefing and complaining. I can do this from anywhere with WiFi and my mind. I do not need paintbrushes or instruments. Etching out some time in my week to do something relatively painless is much more manageable than joining a group or having a deadline for one large thing. When I wanted to get healthier last year, I got solid results from creating a mild gym routine and not eating the fattiest thing on every menu. I’ve never been the type to eat unseasoned chicken and work out five times a week. Maybe writing in moderation will segway into more noble expressions of self. Probably not!
Why do this now? Work and life are balancing well, plus it would be nice to say something about myself after my friends speak of their creative endeavors. I have slowly climbed Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, and self-actualization feels like a neon sign at the end of the block more than the sun peeking over a mountain lately. I finally found a gym here! I read books sometimes! I am more confident and insufferable than ever! Let’s seal the deal of obnoxiousness with something creative and delusional. Writing was one of my first loves along with peanut butter, computer games, and my stuffed animals. Speaking of, I played against a girl named Macy in pool last week, and I had no choice but to tell her that was the name of one of my favorite stuffed animal dogs. She took it surprisingly well.
I hope reading this (and other entries) provides some sort of entertainment value. Please let me know what you enjoyed, what made your eyes roll, and what other musings you would like to scroll through. If you like it enough, maybe share it with other people that I may not know personally. This newsletter is aimed at my friends, but I’m happy to widen the circle. As self-aware as I aim to be, I have no idea how I’m sounding here. Sweet? Pretentious? Similar to how I speak? No matter what, this was pretty fun to write. It might be a bit long, but it’s natural. I wonder how others will turn out. Stick around to watch the fire crackle.
How to be creative when you’re really just like everyone else
Spend multiple months caressing your smooth, smooth brain. Snort in public at dumb Internet things. Examples: this TikTok of a girl making fun of historical musicals, every comment on r/BravoRealHousewives speaking like Theresa Giudice by spelling daughters like “dorters.”
See someone you know post about a mural they made. It’s really good. How does someone get into muraling? you wonder. Do people wonder about how I found a really cool coffee table on Facebook Marketplace? No, queen!
Whine for weeks at a time to your friends and mom about how you aren’t doing anything outside of work and the debauchery of youth. No one cares about hearing this. Your creative friends have to comfort you yet again for making their things about yourself.
Reminisce on the creativity of your childhood. Crappy fridge drawings, Photo Booth singing videos of “I Want You Back” by Cher Lloyd, playing “Ode to Joy” on the violin…whichever embryonic expressions you saw through. Realize you had no chance at being the next artistic success story. Girl, you work a job that only exists because a CEO wanted to pretend like he made something helpful. It’s okay.
Think about what you could do right now. Your friend works at a ceramics studio. Maybe you’ll take a class. You know you’ll get too frustrated with your lack of fine motor skills. Your other friends invite you to an a capella improvisational singing group. This feels too culty, even for you. You walk by an especially talented subway performer and think about how even a guy at the Lorimer/Metropolitan G train platform can sound good. He plays in real orchestras.
You have two options: do something completely different than your normal life, or find a more emotional way to do something you already do a lot. Hint: the latter is easier.
Ask yourself: do I want this to be good, or do I want this to be fun? Am I able to make this thing possess either of those qualities? Find where you want to be on the spectrum.
Loudly commit to something. Do the thing, and it ends up consuming time but in a fun way. Do it twice, maybe three times. Go back to step 1.
This week’s photo is from a party Meera and I hosted at our apartment (first one!) when I dressed as a Hey Mamas lesbian. My friend Dev drew tattoos on me that some people thought were real. I really will just use any excuse to walk around in a sports bra.
Current fixations I want to mention
Food & Drink
Bushwick has plenty of dumb bars, but The Johnson’s is not one of them. When you first walk in, there’s a food vendor (not sure if it’s separate from the bar) with American choices. I had their animal fries, which were piled on with a lovely meat I couldn’t decipher, various spices, and something referred to as an aioli instead of mayo. The actual bar is Bushwick swanky: a bit (consciously) rough around the edges with seats you can sink into. It has great lighting, a 70’s flair (hairy men included), and a pool table (where I lost against Macy). The cocktail menu is a bit small, and their beer selection could be bigger. Nevertheless, the IPAs and coffee-bourbon drink did the job. There are lots of places to sit that encourage conversation, and it was easy to interact with people around the pool table. My friend Elliott and I totaled seven drinks, and the tab was somehow $28. Also, if you rank your bars and restaurants through Beli, please follow me.
Music
It’s 4 a.m. The party is finally, truly winding down on a stormy night. The only tune I want to hear is “Zou Bisou Bisou” by Gillian Hills. I trot around my apartment and perform without a care in the world. The song could be elevator music, but there is a chaos in its repetition. Something about the 60s of it all implies an instability…I need to watch Mad Men.
Internet & Pop Culture
Dunkin’ Spiked versions of their coffee and iced tea are “coming soon.” The coffee (I say this with reverence) already can taste like piss, making the transition to alcohol seamless. This will be the working man’s espresso martini. The drink is a collab with Harpoon Brewing, who previously made a Dunks drink that I either never tried, or my run-in with it was too forgettable. Coffee beer can be a hit but usually a miss for me, so my expectations are not high. No matter its quality, I would be happy to listen to “Shipping Up to Boston” and sip this abomination.
Television & Maybe Movies
I had a work lunch at 80s-heyday restaurant The Odeon in Tribeca. My boss told me to read or watch (I chose watch) Bright Lights, Big City, since a notable scene happens there. Michael J. Fox is a fact checker at a big NY magazine and struggling with drugs in the wake of his marriage ending. Lots of coke, loud clubs, and hungover Michael J. Fox wearing sunglasses. Kiefer Sutherland is at his sexiest. Interesting and still relevant commentary on the lack of modern American literary giants. Speaking of, who would be considered one now? Colleen Hoover? Will her work be lionized after we die? Anyway, I never heard of this movie previously and am happy to have seen it. You can find it for free on the Roku channel.
Something I Saw in the Wild
A perk of Bushwick living is finding fascinating objects for the taking on sidewalks. We found and procured a fog machine with fog. I have no idea when to use it, but it’s ours now. Let me know if you’re planning a Bar Mitzvah or a rave any time soon.