Reflections on a year in the South Bronx

As Ace and I gear up for a move this weekend, I find myself wondering how and if the ghetto has changed me, or my outlook on life. For the past year, I have lived in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the country, a crackhouse across the street from my apartment, which is centered between project buildings with warring gangs. In the beginning of our stay here, my reaction was characterized mostly by curiosity and amusement. About two months in, I tired of the noise, cat-calls and sketchy men milling about in large groups late at night. By now, I'm only grateful that I haven't been mugged or physically harmed. That said, the things I have learned in the past year:

1. There is no good response to a cat-call. Ignore it, and you offend the man/men, and they will follow you down the street, asking why you don't acknowledge them. Tell them to fuck off, and you invite anger. Try to come up with something clever, and they don't understand it. Best just to talk loudly to yourself in gibberish on the walk home so they'll think you're a crackhead.

2. Don't skimp on the weave. Not that I'm a typical weave candidate, but many a rainstorm here has taught me that not only should I invest in a titanium umbrella, but also that pieces of my gross weave will be strewn about the sidewalks after a decent gust of wind.

3. C-Town is not a real grocery store. It exists, yes. But the years-old produce and generic hispanic canned goods it offers can hardly be FDA-approved.

4. Fried chicken drives local economy. Got a bodega? Sell fried chicken. Pizza place? Sell fried chicken. Donut shop? You guessed it...fried chicken.

5. "We ain't sold Camels here since the whiteys moved out 20 years ago."
No explanation needed here, really.

6. You WILL have sugar in your coffee. Sure, you can order it sans sugar. The cashier will give you a strange look, think he/she misheard you, and instead of "none", will empty nine packets into your 16-oz cuppa joe.

7. You love the Daily News. If you don't love the Daily News with all of its sensationalist trash-talking posing as real news, it will be shoved in your face anyway, given away free with your generic vegetables at C-Town. It is the only newspaper available in a twenty-block-or-so radius.

8. Cops regard shell casings as "souvenirs". After twenty shots were fired in front of our apartment, not only did law enforcement provide great fodder for Reno 911 by royally screwing up a crime scene, but they also left evidence by our mailbox, which we were then encouraged to keep, as...a souvenir.

9. If your train comes into the station going the wrong way, you're in for a bad day. Like, one of those days where you don't know what train you're on, or where it's headed, and neither does the conductor, but you won't risk taking a bus because there's a mob scene outside. A day where your train will be stuck between stations for twenty minutes, a mariachi band, twelve screaming children, a tour group and three one-legged panhandlers will board the train, and the only thing keeping you sane is your iPod, which dies two minutes into your ride.

10. An unemployed couple can afford RocaWear, Nex-Tels, and nine children with RocaWear and Nex-Tels. At the expense of nutrition and electricity, which is kind of a fair trade to be flossin'.

That's it for now. Ace and I are moving to a place with 24-hour security cameras, bomb-proof doors imported from Israel, and a high school across the street. Good things come to those who...search for apartments for months.

Happy '08, folks.