Tag Archives: NYC

19 Important Differences Between Long Islanders And New Yorkers

1. Long Islanders are better at basketball.

2. Long Islanders root for the New York Islanders. New Yorkers wait until playoffs, and if the Rangers make the playoffs, then they root for the New York Rangers.

3. New Yorkers think they’re eating the best pizza and bagels in the world. Long Islanders actually have the best pizza and bagels in the world. And Chinese food. And gyros.

4. Long Islanders and New Yorkers alike head east every summer to enjoy a hot day at Splish Splash water park out in Riverhead, but you can always tell which ones are the New Yorkers: they run around barefooted. Long Islanders always wear flip-flops.

Read the rest at Thought Catalog.

Happy New Year from Times Square!

Wow, the energy here at Times Square is just nuts. It’s not even lunchtime yet, and the whole place is going crazy. This is exactly how I’ve always dreamed it would be, the festive atmosphere, all of the people, the hustle, the bustle. I can’t believe we’re only twelve hours away from 2015, and we’re going to be right here, right in the middle of it all, at the crossroads of America when the clock strikes twelve.

And I thought we were getting here early. I guess all the real New Yorkers know what’s what, that you have to come even earlier to stake out a good spot. I can still see the ball though, that’s the most important part. But the stage is so far away, I doubt Ryan Seacrest will notice this cool sign I made. It’s a piece of pink cardstock, it says, “Hey Ryan! We’re so happy to be here in NYC!” Yeah, I’m not too great at coming up with cool slogans, but it’s sincere, we really are very happy to be here. And I dressed it up with all sorts of glitter and ribbon and confetti. Maybe one of the cameras will pan to it, and maybe Ryan will see it on one of his little monitors somewhere.

Yeah, you’re right honey, that coffee I had on the way over was a big mistake. I can’t believe there aren’t any port-a-potties set up. Where are all of these people supposed to go to the bathroom? Luckily, it’s so cold that it’s hard to separate the feeling of having to pee from the sensation of all of the blood leaving my extremities.

No, I can’t be negative. So what, so I have to hold it for a little longer, that’s OK. It’s all about the experience. Times Square, New York City, 2015. Someday we’ll have our own kids, and we’ll be sitting at home in the living room watching the ball drop on TV, and I’ll tell the kids, “Kids, do you know that your mother and I went to Times Square one year?”

And the oldest will be a teenager, and he or she will probably be going through that defiant teenage period, not wanting to hang out with the family, definitely not on New Year’s Eve. “Yeah, you told us that story a million times,” will be the reply. But I’ll know that underneath that sourpuss face, there’s going to be a feeling, a disbelief, like really? My parents went to Times Square on New Year’s Eve? That’s so cool.

You’ll never guess what just happened. There was a commotion going on maybe twenty feet away, and so I pushed through the crowd and got close, and it was a street performer! It’s freezing out, I have three coats and two scarves on, but this guy just had a vest, no shirt, just a vest. And he started juggling bowling pins! Wow, the crowd was going wild. Only in the Big Apple, right?

But then, oh jeez, things just took an ugly turn. This guy started passing around a disgusting old hat, I guess begging for change or something. Everybody kind of just looked at their feet, I felt bad about having recorded his whole act on my phone, so I gave him some spare change, I think it was like thirty-seven cents. But then the guy to my left passed the hat without giving anything. The performer got annoyed, he started saying something about photos and money. I don’t know, good thing there are so many cops here to keep a lid on any trouble. They carted him away, hopefully to get a coat, it’s really, very cold out here, way too cold for only a vest. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s homeless, if maybe they’re not doing him a favor. That’s no way to make a living.

Man, I thought I could hold it, but I can’t hold it anymore. There’s still something like ten hours left. If there weren’t so many cops here, I could probably pee somewhere, maybe a cup. I get a shy bladder around large crowds, but this, I don’t know, I’m ready to pop. There’s a dude to my left who looks like he just wet his pants. That’s actually not a bad idea. I mean, it’ll dry, right? And it’s not like I’m going to go back to the hotel. I’ll lose my spot. OK.

Ah … I can’t tell you how great that felt. And I’m sure it’s not going to last very long at all, but I’m just so warm, my pants anyway, I don’t remember ever feeling this warm. But there it goes, now it’s getting cold. And now it’s getting really cold. Ooh, and now it’s freezing. I should have thought about that maybe. I mean, it’s chilly out, yeah, but I didn’t think it was below freezing. Maybe if I just bend back a little, point my crotch toward the sun. This has got to evaporate, right?

No, officer, I didn’t pee myself, I just, I spilled my coffee. Yeah, and then I lost the cup. No, come on, I swear, I’m a tourist. You can’t take me to a shelter. Look, it’ll dry. Please, you have no idea how long I’ve been planning this trip. And what am I supposed to tell my kids? No, honey, you stay, just stay here and celebrate and have fun. One of us needs to be here for when the ball drops. Yes, officer, I’m coming, please, one second here. Honey, take my sign, just, if you see any cameras, try to grab someone’s attention, point to the glitter. OK, I’m going, I’m going. Baby, if they let me out of the shelter, I’ll try to swing back to the hotel, change my pants, and I’ll see if I can’t make it back here. Jeez, there’s no need to get pushy, I’m coming, all right. Honey, Happy New Year! Let me know if you see anybody famous!

I was born and raised on Long Island

I grew up on Long Island, and like everybody else that grew up on Long Island, I feel like I developed this natural chip on my shoulder. It’s nothing that any of us did on purpose, it just happens automatically. I remember one of my friends from grade school had a cousin that lived two towns over. “Man, I hate Long Island kids,” he always used to say. And I didn’t get it. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m from Queens.” And that was it, I don’t think he really knew what that meant either, but I was left to sort of figure things out for myself. And I’m not even kidding you, I remember being in like fourth or fifth grade and finally looking at a map. And it was Long Island, my town somewhere in the middle, and Brooklyn and Queens clearly a part of the same geographical landmass.

And then my grandfather explained it to me, the boroughs, how New York City is more than just Manhattan. But cut it any way you want to, Long Island isn’t New York City. It’s Nassau County, that’s where I grew up, and Suffolk County farther east. And you’d never really think it makes too much of a difference. I mean, I grew up in the suburbs, I’m not trying to make my upbringing something that it’s not.

But why am I writing this, why am I trying to justify myself anyway? It’s what I’ve been conditioned to do. When I went away to college, I found out the hard way that I couldn’t just say I was from New York the same way some guy from the suburbs of Cleveland gets to say that he’s from Cleveland. Because any time that question comes up, wherever I am in the world, it doesn’t matter, there’s always going to be at least one or two real New Yorkers ready to put me in my place, to out New York me.

If you’re from Long Island, you know exactly what I’m talking about, and it’s really annoying. “Oh, you’re from New York?” the real New Yorker will cut you off, “What part? I’m from (insert New York City neighborhood here), born and raised.” Notice how they don’t even give you a chance to give an answer before throwing their origin story in your face.

Also notice the phrase “born and raised.” You’ll hear it a lot from people who grew up in the city. They must teach it at all the public schools. “OK class, if you ever hear anybody from Long Island trying to say that they’re from New York, make sure that you let them know where you were born and raised.”

I lived in Ecuador for two years and I couldn’t escape it. I met several expats who, after hearing me drop the NY, they’d kind of just appear, get in my face. “Where? Long Island? That’s not really New York.” I swear, I’d been living in Queens for two years before I went abroad, and I still felt pressured to display my bona fides, all while this guy from Staten Island and some girl from Brooklyn shook their heads at me in disapproval. “I’ve never even been to Long Island,” some lady from Manhattan once boasted to me. And I had to just stand there and smile and try not to get into a screaming match with a random stranger. Because really? That’s something to brag about? That you’re born on a tiny island and you’ve never once made the trip to the slightly bigger tiny island that exists fifteen minutes to the east?

Over the course of many years of bullshit New York conversation, I’d try to make the argument that, outside of Manhattan anyway, a lot of the outer boroughs are pretty much identical to suburban Long Island. But whatever, I’m not trying to defend myself, or Long Island. Long Island shouldn’t have to defend itself from New York City. One, it’s not fair, because a lot of Long Island towns are bigger than actual cities across the US. And two, who cares? For real? Who gives a shit? Why don’t you pick on Westchester? Huh? What, making fun of Jersey isn’t good enough for you? You have to take a dump on Long Island? By the way, don’t bother explaining where the Hamptons are. If you’re getting bent out of shape because of a conversation with someone who grew up in New York and vacations in the Hamptons, just leave, just do yourself a favor and make sure you never talk to that person again.

And for real here, a lot of the stuff that New York is famous for is better on Long Island. I’m talking pizza and bagels. New York City staples, right? Yeah, well they’re both better on Long Island. Go ahead and deny it. Start throwing down the names of all of those world-class New York pizzerias you found on a BuzzFeed list while you should have been working. Sure, maybe there’s like one or two city pizza places or bagel shops that do a really good job, but in terms of consistent quality at basically every location, Long Island has NYC beat nine times out of ten.

That’s basically it. If you’re one of those real New Yorkers, do me a favor, and just save it, OK? I don’t care where you were born and raised, and nobody else does either. There’s no trophy. And you sound like an idiot. Also, if you ever say “Strong Island” to me like you think you’re making fun of me, or that I’m going to get upset, you’re not, and I’m not. In fact, I take it is a compliment.

This article was originally published at Thought Catalog.

Can we stop saying Western Queens?

I’ve been seeing it a lot lately, the term “Western Queens.” And I don’t think that this is one of those instances where I just noticed something that’s always been there, and now I’m seeing it everywhere. No, I think this is a trend happening, that we’re in the very early stages of the creation of a buzzword. And I don’t like it.

What purpose does Western Queens serve? None. It doesn’t serve any purpose. Whenever you see it used on blogs or in conversation, it’s almost always in reference to Astoria or Long Island City. And that’s it, Western Queens. I guess it should be a little more encompassing, right? What about Sunnyside, Woodside, or Jackson Heights among others? I mean, if you look at a map of Queens, those are all definitely western neighborhoods.

I think what happened is that people who moved to Astoria and Long Island City started going around talking about how much they love Queens, how it’s such a great place to live. And then they probably ran into a friend or a coworker that grew up in Queens, but somewhere else, like Bayside, or Jamaica. And they did the whole, “Don’t you just love Queens?” thing, and after about two or three sentences of awkward conversation, it became painfully obvious that they didn’t know anything about Queens, not really, just Astoria and Long Island City. And so, determined not to make the same mistake again, they latched onto the term Western Queens. “Isn’t Western Queens great?”

I just picked up a copy of BORO magazine, it’s the free circular they give out at all of the cool coffee shops and paninierias around here. And on the cover, it just said, “LIC.” Inside, the editor-in-chief wrote his whole introduction, and he kept saying it, over and over again, Western Queens, it’s such a community, what a sense of place.

At my restaurant in midtown, we just started serving Singlecut Pilsner on tap. They make it right here in Astoria. And when the managers told the wait staff about the brewery and how to describe this particular beer, we were encouraged to read a particular script, to say something along the lines of, “It’s local, it’s from right over the bridge in Western Queens.”

Why does it bother me so much? Because I can just hear it, when you say Western Queens, what you’re really trying to say is, Cool Queens. And you really don’t even care about saying the Queens part, it’s the Cool that you’re really going after. It’s fad terminology, like when East Williamsburg was all anybody could talk about around five or so years ago, before everybody started making fun how ridiculous it was, East Williamsburg, just a clever marketing trick to get people to move to Bushwick, and now it doesn’t matter, go ahead and say Bushwick, that’s trendy as hell too.

But at least Bushwick is an actual neighborhood. Western Queens is just dumb. I’m telling you, just keep your ears open. Maybe you’ve never heard it before, but I guarantee that you will, over the course of the next year or so, one of your friends or coworkers is going to casually slip it into conversation, maybe they’ll invite you out for a drink at one of those cool beer gardens in Western Queens.

You know the New York State government actually tried to make a law a while back that would have prevented real estate agents from just making up trendy neighborhood names for random sections of housing across the city. Why? Because it’s just a cheap way to invent bogus prestige, to drive up rent prices in an already inflated market, yes, but it’s also just really lame.

Western Queens just sounds really stupid, and I’m hearing it a lot lately, and I wish that I wasn’t. But what am I going to do, right? I’m just some random guy complaining about an ever-changing city, and I guess that’s pretty lame too.

The ABCs of Astoria, Queens

A is for Astoria is the best place in NYC.

B is for the Bel Aire Diner, the best diner in Astoria, and therefore, in the whole city.

C is for Christos Steakhouse, the greatest steakhouse in the history of steakhouses.

D is for Ditmars, second only to Broadway in being the most awesome thoroughfare in the borough.

E is for the everything bagel that I always get when I go to Brooklyn Bagel on Broadway.

F is for the free can of Coke that I always get when I order a combo meal at Fatima’s Halal Kitchen, the best Chinese food place on planet Earth.

G is for Gleason’s Pub, where one time, my trivia team almost finished third place. (We blew it by wagering too much on the last question.)

H is for the Hellgate Bridge. It’s so fucking cool. And it’s in Astoria.

I is for Icahn Stadium, where I saw the Warped Tour when I was in high school. It’s really close to Astoria. You just have to take the Triboro Bridge and get off before entering Manhattan or the Bronx.

J is for my friend Jim, he lives on 36th Street in between Broadway and 31st Ave. He has this ridiculous setup in his apartment with a gigantic projection screen and an XBOX Kinect. We have so much fun playing video games together. Hey Jim, if you’re reading this, what’s up man? You want to play some DDR later tonight? (If you don’t have plans already, that is.)

K is for Kans, a sports bar on Steinway. It’s OK … just OK.

L is for Loukaniko, some sort of a Greek sausage. They have it all over Astoria. It’s awesome.

M is for Manhattan, currently in a four-way tie for second-best borough in New York City. (A distant second, I might add.)

N is for the N train, which takes you to Astoria.

O is for Omonia, the bakery that made the wedding cake for the box office hit, My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

P is for Passion Hair and Nails on Broadway, where they just raised the price of a men’s haircut from ten to twelve dollars. (It’s cool. I still love them.)

Q is for the Q train, which also takes you to Astoria. (Just not late night or on the weekends.)

R is for the R train, which has several Astoria stops. It’s also for the Rite-Aid on Broadway and 21st, which just had a massive renovation, and is now open 24 hours.

S is for Socrates Sculpture Park, where one time I let my dog off his leash, and he started terrorizing some neighborhood kids. A park guy came up to me and was like, “Hey man! Get your dog under control!” and I was like, “What do you mean? I thought this was a leash-free park!” and he was like, “Nah man, not until nine. Either before nine or after nine,” and I was like, “Isn’t it always technically either before nine or after nine?” and then he just got really pissed off.

T is for the taco truck on Broadway and 36th Street. The best tacos in North America.

U is for Uncle George (RIP.)

V is for the V train (RIP.)

W is for the W train (RIP.)

X is for X-Men: Days of Future Past, which I saw at the Regal Theaters on 38th Street in Astoria, the best movie theater in the city.

Y is for Your favorite neighborhood in the city, Astoria.

Z is for Zenon Taverna (I’m not sure if it’s spelled with a Z or an X, but you pronounce it Zenon Taverna.)