Power Broker Fall

Fall began today because it’s the first time this season I wore a beanie. This was the busiest I’d seen Hasidic Williamsburg in a minute, and I later realized it’s because it’s finally cool enough that walking around with thick, modest clothes doesn’t suck as hard. I’ve previously declared that the best temperature is when you feel an absence of it (72 degrees?), but I might be off by a few degrees. The high sixties hit an equilibrium where you can wear layers or short sleeves and feel good, either slightly warm or slightly cool but both comfy. Lucky to get a perfect day like that today.

My commitment to coziness this fall has led me back into a pattern I usually hate with a work hard week and a play hard weekend, but I guess this is some form of balance. I’m finding myself drinking fewer days of the week but having larger amounts of alcohol on the nights I do, which I’m not really a fan of but hoping it’s just a step to drinking less.

I had a really great week, and I owe a lot of it to my newfound thirst for knowledge and obsession with Robert Moses biography The Power Broker. My friend Kaylie, who is also reading the book, recommended listening to the monthly episodes from architecture podcast 99% Invisible that go through the whole book and interview people about it. The first episode is with author Robert Caro (who has such an awesome NY accent), and some of the other guests include AOC and Pete Buttigieg. I made a playlist of all of them out so far and am planning on listening to each episode as I get to their corresponding book checkpoint.

I read the first hundred pages and listened to its companion episode. It’s so fun to hear people geek out and also show how funny so much of Moses’ story (and Caro’s writing) is. I’m still early in the book and imagine young Robert Moses as Jonah Ryan (tall, ambitious, antagonistic), which adds to the silliness of this big, serious book. There are three episodes left and will come out once a month until the year ends. Since it’s the book’s 50th anniversary, there’s also an exhibit about its makings at the New York Historical Society until February. I hope to finish the book in time to see it. It’s nice having a fun, low-stakes goal!

In embracing the challenge of this book, I’m dubbing this fall of mine as Power Broker Fall. Not only does this describe my intellectual pursuits of the season but also desires to make my world more efficient while annoying a lot of my compatriots with sweeping declarations, just like a young Moses. We’ll see how I reevaluate this title once we get into the weeds of him destroying neighborhoods instead of streamlining state government bodies like I’m reading now. Well, maybe not — it’s not Robert Moses Fall, after all. Power Broker Fall includes my budding adoration for its author, who actually interviewed Moses multiple times. Caro is such an inquisitive, relentless researcher (journalist!) and inspires me to question more about my surroundings here. In this voracious read I’m diving into, I feel my confidence and power growing. Who tryna have a Power Broker Fall?

I also read that he used to walk to work with a friend every day from his apartment on the UWS to his office in what’s now the Woolworth building near City Hall. Semi-relatedly, I listened to a podcast earlier this week about the Collyer brothers, rich recluses who rarely left their Harlem hoarder mansion— except for when Langley Collyer roamed the city late at night in a similar fashion to how he used to walk to his downtown office. I wonder if he and Robert Moses ever crossed paths on their crazy commutes. Why do freaks love walking great distances? I hope Power Broker Fall signals a walk-heavy season for me to do the walking community better than these two odd dudes.

I took a long walk to Carroll Gardens this week with my friend Allie after not seeing her for two weeks (a long time for us) and proceeded to indulge in a neighborhood night. I always have such a good time with her. In talking about how I feel like I can’t sustain this lifestyle I’ve built while living in New York, she advised me to treat my life as if I’m living here forever instead of treating it as temporarily as I am. I like this advisory to calm down, but it’s hard to worry about missing out on core youth busyness that I’d like to reminisce on when I’m older and regretless (I still think I can sleep when I’m dead). I think it’s a good idea, though, and certainly battles against my gentrifier tendencies. Less playground, more permanence.

I didn’t really get a chance to practice this serenity this weekend because I spent it going to a concert in Philadelphia. Philly was the first city outside of Pittsburgh I’d ever seen, driving through its midday traffic on the way to the Jersey Shore most summers of my youth. The only time I had ever been in the city outside of a vehicle passing through was spending a weekend with my ex’s friends near Temple and feeling the most pearl-clutchy possible amidst their gravity bong, four cats I was allergic to, and low-level drug dealing that had random people entering the apartment.

I was excited to be in the city on my terms, staying with a few friends at their apartment and seeing Vampire Weekend, a band I’ve barely listened to but was an old favorite of Meera’s. Gabby, Allie, Meera, and I bussed from a rainy, bleak block outside of the Javits Center (also my first time seeing The Vessel up close — lame) to a different rainy, bleak block in Philly.

Meera wanted to see the Liberty Bell, so we Ubered over to what I assume is a prettier lawn when it’s sunny and waited in a surprisingly long line to see what could end up being Philadelphia’s Mona Lisa. Allie read the bell’s Wikipedia page while we were in line, which ended up working out because we could not pay attention to the little museum. The Bell is free to see and at the end of a room with a few exhibits detailing its history and symbol of democracy. The four of us were so loud and obnoxious that we would probably rival a group of school kids on a field trip. We would point at old drawings of the framers and say which person in our group would date them and just laugh. I would have hated to have been around us taking up this much space. We saw the bell (bigger than I thought) and took a picture together. Did you know the big crack was on purpose?

We walked to Chinatown not just because we were craving good food but also because the neighborhood might get flattened for a stadium (which will TOTALLY work out and NOT suck at ALL). We ended up getting Korean food atop a dreary, mostly empty food hall with a view of the street below. It’s everything you want from a Korean restaurant: Korean ballads playing, TVs with game shows, and those water pitchers you don’t see at other restaurants but are clearly superior to all others. We thought getting two entrees and a few appetizers would provide great lunch portions for four people, but each of the apps were entree sized. We scarfed down as much yumminess as we could but ended up taking four boxes home.

While we waited for our friend Nick to pick us up, we walked around a Japanese store Gabby and Allie had been to before, choosing drinks and chocolates while unintentionally cutting the checkout line and disrupting an entire store. Wow, we need to get out. Nick picked us up and took us to our friends’ place in Manayunk, a name inspiring offspring phrases (Get yunked, I’m yunkmaxxing, etc.) and we played a game Gabby made up where we try to imitate objects’ noises with our mouths. We could not get any dumber.

After sourcing drinks from the state liquor store, we arrived at Kerry and Ally’s gorgeous apartment that deserves editorial attention from anyone writing pieces on how to decorate an apartment as a young person. They’ve been roommates there for three years with design choices that create such a pretty, cozy space that makes me wonder how anyone ever leaves. This sparked a renewed interest in decorating our apartment. We gawked at the place as Ally came out with carrot cookies that rocked my world. I was excited for my stay at the Four Seasons Manayunk.

Manayunk is a hilly, gentrifying neighborhood along the Schuykill River (pronounced SKOO-kull as Pennsylvanianly as possible) with quiet residential streets and a few poppin’ commercial blocks (sort of reminds me of Lawrenceville in Pittsburgh). We walked down the hill a few blocks to a gentrify-y sports bar with those steel chairs, fake wooden tables, and a menu with ingredients this area first learned of in the past 5 years. We just got some drinks, and I enjoyed the weirdness of their pumpkin spice white russian, which included some boba balls.

Nick has been my friend for a over a year and lives near me. Soon after we became friends, he started dating Kerry, and they celebrated their one-year anniversary yesterday. Maybe all of the good men in New York are just dating girls in Philly. We were honored to get to ring in their celebrating all together. Nick told us about how the night before he ended up ordering 40 bags of carrots on GoPuff for no reason, an attempt to make a bit out of a previous order of 40 bananas but with much less success due to the lack of cooking creativity carrots provide compared to the endless banana bread produced from his last attempt. Hence, Ally’s carrot cookies that barely made a dent in the supply. The bit was fun while it lasted.

We went home to pregame more for the concert with some of their other friends. I wanted to frontload my drinking to prevent taking breaks during the concert to get more alcohol as well as a hangover the next morning. I chatted with friends and pet their gorgeous little dog that never barked.

Our Uber arrived first to the Mann Center, an outdoor venue closer to the city center than Manayunk. I really loved this venue. Bathrooms and tents selling provisions were right after security, and walking up some stairs revealed a huge seating area on the side of a hill. Our “seats” were finding a place on the lawn, which would have been more fun if it wasn’t too rainy and wet to sit on. Still, we had a great time. I was sufficiently sloshed and kept screaming Yeahhhh! really loud, which wasn’t really the vibe of the show. I was really enjoying the concert, but the best part was watching Meera watch a band she loves and sing all of the words.

The night wasn’t over, and we Ubered to an allegedly gay bar called Franky Bradley’s. The most drunk thing I did that night was walk into the front seat of the Uber even though there was room in the back. Our driver was playing reggaeton and we all started jamming. I don’t think he expected our group to request more El Alfa, but he turned the volume up and we all sang and danced along. The ride was really long, and we all wished it was longer to keep dancing with our new friend. We mumbled este, este, este, o este? into the following day. Reality struck as we exited and had to wait in a line for a club.

Part of this trip had a hopeful goal of maybe seeing longevity in Philadelphia, what could be a great marriage of Pittsburgh and New York stuff. I was certainly feeling the Pittsburgh and declared to my University of Pittsburgh alumna friends with more Philly experience than me that Philly is just Big Pittsburgh. They immediately shot me down and found my opinion foolish. Their logic is that east coast culture snaps the Pittsburghery out of Philly. This reasoning felt better to me as someone wondering if Philly could be a median between two of my formative cities.  

Going to Franky Bradley’s (why can’t it be Frankie instead of Franky) proved that if there’s longevity, it’s certainly not starting at this stage of my life. New York has poisoned me so much that if I hear “gay bar” and it’s actually just overcrowded with straight people plus a few dudes making out with each other on the side, I can’t hit maximum fun. It’s not really a bad bar, and I was already pretty sloshed. It’s huge with multiple levels, and the music was not horrible (but I’m told I missed the room with the best music).

Most American cities have poor nightlife, especially if you’re looking for somewhere to dance to good music. Then the few huge, dancey, and/or gay bars are hyped up as the absolute spot to go and have a crazy night. This creates an expectation problem where hordes of people get all gussied up with their friends in hopes of an amazing night, but they just half-heartedly dance while their eyes dart across the room either out of insecurity or boredom. Actually, they feel insecure about being bored in what they perceive (or hoped) as peak nightlife in their town…and if this bar isn’t fun, is there anywhere fun to go? I’ve felt this before in the other places I’ve lived and wondered if I’m being too picky or if there really is something better out there. I’ve historically chosen crippling knowledge over blissful ignorance, and living in New York is quite the embodiment of that choice; I just didn’t know that would mean raising my standards in going out after being way too blessed here. Maybe I should really lean more into the NYC permanence mindset.

Although a lot of the people at this bar were experiencing this insecurity I just illustrated, I was having a great time dancing with my friends before eventually getting sleepy. We Ubered home, ate some Korean leftovers, and retreated to our bedchambers. Us four girlies slept on air mattresses and the couch (where the dog spent most of the night with Allie).

I’ve been awake far earliest for the majority of my sleepovers, and this one was no different. After spending a morning trying to recollect my night in awe that I wasn’t that hungover, the dog came onto the air mattress, pushed Meera away, and laid in my arms. He rested his head on my neck, placed his paw past my arm, and crooked his body closer to mine. I’ve never had the chance to cuddle with an animal in this way before, and he fully chose me. It felt magical and so, so silly. Meera kept laughing at his insistence to be close to me, but I couldn’t laugh because I didn’t want to disturb him. When I eventually tried getting up, he pressed harder and stopped me before I tried again a few minutes later. What a love.

We packed up and said our goodbyes to our gracious hostesses with bags of carrots in tow. Gabby had gone onto All Things Go in DC (what a trooper), so it was just three of us going back to New York. We grabbed coffee nearby and I forgot how to be person mixing a drink before taking a nauseating Uber to the bus station. We sat in the back row of the bus all packed next to each other. We went airborne on multiple bumps and kept laughing. Why don’t more buses have seatbelts?

After a chatty first hour, we retreated into phones or slumber before arriving back to the bleak block on a day that ended up being rainier than the one before it. I failed to mention earlier that the L was shut down this weekend in Manhattan, so we had to take a three-train trip there and back. A cool factoid was that we got on each train at a terminating point (Hudson Yards on the 7, Court Square on the G, and (for this weekend) Lorimer on the L).

Meera and I split for her to get some groceries while I ordered our craving (Lebanese food from Semkeh) and went home with just so many bags. We ended up having a completely indulgent night, coming home at 3 p.m. after not eating food all day and lounging on the couch forever before a pre-midnight bedtime. Restorative!

Happy Power Broker Fall!

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