Last November, my digital camera stopped taking pictures. A little error message would come up, give me morose details regarding my memory card in a very simpering tone, and then it would go black. I went through the holiday season and my little vacation relying on my iPod touch and the kindness of strangers to photograph my better moments. Getting to the wretched abyss known as Best Buy had been on my to-do list, so this morning I hauled my ass to Central Avenue, where beauty and intelligence go to die. After a spending 20 minutes looking up the receipt, it was determined that I didn’t, in fact, need the receipt, and that I could step over to the Geek Squad. Upon arrival at the counter, I turned on the camera to demonstrate the evil message and subsequent freezing of the camera, which proceeded to take 10 perfect pictures with utterly no technological hiccups. Thus, I apparently underestimated the healing powers of the Geek Squad, as being in the mere presence of an ill-working electronic is enough to make the damn thing, which has been malfunctioning for 5 months, work perfectly.
I have finally found an appropriate vessel to house all of my loose change. When the cup is full, I intend on taking it to the bank, where you can change it into bills without paying the CoinStar fee (though you don’t get to use that shovel/scoop thing to put the coins into the machine).
Finally, the rumors are true: I blew off an interview at a summer ESL program for drinks and apps last night. As I obtained employment and grad school admission so quickly, I felt as though too many good things were happening at once in far too easy a fashion, and that I should do something to make me feel some regret, have a life dilemma, if you will. As we drove down the West Side Highway at sunset, I had a couple of realizations.
A: There’s an uncanny similarity between expatriates and everyone who lives in Williamsburg in that they don’t interact with the local culture but rather barge in and establish establishments that, while potentially friendly to the environment overall, are not necessarily in concordance with the local environment nor the needs of the local community; at the same time this lead to situations in which people believe that because they talk with the guy who sells coffee on the corner they live in the ghetto.
B: If one were to arrive from out of town and move to a place like Williamsburg or Soho or SoBro or wherever the kids are moving these days, they would be directly transported to their shiny happy neighborhood where they would stay ensconced in a bubble of eclectic music and tight pants. This would mean that they’d never have to suffer the strife of living in what should seriously be the sixth and a halfth borough (get on that Bloomberg; I need street cred) and that they’d never get the thrill of ditching Doubleday’s for downtown and cruising down the Hudson River in early spring, windows down.