I made no effort to look urban or hip the night I went to
Brooklyn.
That’s actually a lie.
Last minute, before leaving in my plain, everyday wear, I decided to
put on foundation and blush, which really shot me in the foot later, because
the venue was entirely lit by black light.
You find all sorts of things wrong with yourself under black
light, like how lint ridden your coat is, how that yogurt stain from breakfast
really never came off, and how red your face is because of your make-up. At least, that’s what I got from a frightened
Isabel. She yelped when I turned to her, asking for lip balm. “I’m sorry,” she said, a little more
calmly. Her face peered at me,
perplexed. “But you just turned to
me, and your face is all red and your eyes are extremely green, sort of like a
nightmare.”
Or Christmas, my wounded pride insisted. People love Christmas.
I touched my cheek, regretting that last minute attempt
to look presentable, but, then again, a girl dressed in thigh-high stockings,
leather garters, leather bustier, and shorts was grinding the air in front of
me, quite proudly. I could at
least own my red face and green eyes for one night.
I had gone out with Isabel and Melissa to see Melissa’s
boyfriend’s band play that night.
The old lady part of me, which has been extremely tired, getting used to
the walking and subway navigation all week, was pretty pooped by the time
Melissa called to see if I could meet up, but I stumbled out of bed, toothbrush
in my purse and route pulled up on my phone to find my way from Queens to
Brooklyn.
It took an hour to get there, which I didn’t mind because I
learned a two things en route.
1. There’s a
sub-subway.
Seriously. At
Union Square, there’s another staircase to go further down into the subway system for the L train. It felt
almost like this hidden city underground, where people my age, dressed in old
people’s clothes, all gathered to wait carelessly for a train. In spotting this, I knew I was on the right track to finding
my way to Brooklyn.
2. There’s room to do
more on a subway than waiting.
I got to see break-dancing on a subway! I was so excited by this, because of my
deep, deep desire to be able to do it myself. Well, any sort of breakdancing really. I believe that breakdancing in a small space is reserved for the pros.
It started innocently enough. Three guys came on and started to talk to one another in loud,
obnoxious voices across the entire train, and two of them walked up and down,
asking for space, when suddenly:
“You guys are in for a real treat!” one guy proclaimed.
“Don’t say that!” another shouted. “We’re not that good.”
“Let’s do this!” the other said as if he didn't just hear this debate going on.
And with that calculated, humorous banter, the first guy
started his boom box, leaving it on the floor for anyone to take really, and
made a running start to one of the metal poles.
He was actually really good. He held onto the pole and pretended to walk all the way
around, while keeping himself a good three feet above the floor. The last guy made a run towads the
pole and grabbed onto the handles above head, twisting his body and flipping as
the others called him Spiderman.
Now the second guy had to be a noob, which explains why his
segment was scheduled between the other two. He made a running start to the metal pole too, and we
watched with anticipation as he hooked his arm around it, and began to spin around
in a circle, like children usually do.
From the sidelines, I could see the other two prompt him with slight
gestures, and he repeated these himself, going into a routine where he rolled his
baseball hat onto his shoulder, his elbow, dropping it onto the toe of his
shoe, before kicking it back up to land on his head.
I proudly related all of this Melissa as we waited for the
band to play, and she laughed, agreeing with me as we watched a band that had one guitarist, one keyboardist, and one computer.
I was actually really sleepy when the night started, and I
walked into the venue, flashing my ID with one hand and holding a coffee with
the other. You know, to get the
energy needed to see a man dressed in Christmas lights dance under the black
lights and to be accosted by a breakdancer robot man. The usual.
It was also really helpful when we came to unloading the
van, storing the band’s organ, drum kit, and other musical instruments into
their storage unit. Then the
bassist, who was also the owner and driver of the van, came out of the storage
unit, lugging the van’s backseat, which was taken out to make room for all of
the instruments.
They sat it on the sidewalk until we cleared everything, and
while Melissa and I waited, we took a seat, watching them work.
We also pretended to be on a talk show and mimed driving,
but what else are you supposed to do with a car seat in the middle of a
sidewalk?