Brooklyn State of Mind

Adventures on the Eastern Seaboard

Greetings from New York! Actually, I’m at JFK, and leaving in a few minutes, but I’ve been traveling so much lately my time everywhere has been short.

I sent last week’s Message from the Underworld from Haymarket, Virginia, while visiting with my mother, my brother, and his family. The following day my brother and I went to another celebration for my father’s 80th birthday. (This is the one he planned; the previous one he didn’t know about it.) I was a bit nervous about it because it was a more intimate gathering of my father’s Republican friends, including the county sheriff, the county’s prosecuting attorney, and the state’s attorney general. 

“Does that mean we can get away with anything or nothing?” my brother asked. 

“Anything,” was the answer, but we were advised not to put this theory to the test. 

I was expecting a dry, uncomfortable evening but when my corner of the table shifted to music I was in for a surprise, leads me to a new installation of…

PssSST… (West Virginia Edition)

In between the appetizers and the main course the president of the Eastern Panhandle Business Association asked me what my next book was about.

“SST Records.”

“You mean Black Flag’s label?” 

“That’s exactly right,” I said, somewhat shocked. 

“I saw Black Flag,” added another guest, a commercial real estate lawyer. “They played a club in Richmond, Virginia, with the Dead Kennedys.” He went to tell the story about how he was dating an art major with pink hair and she took him to the show in 1982. 

The conversation turned to rock and roll shows we had seen. An accountant recounted the one and only time he saw Robert Plant play with Jimmy Page and went through the entire set, including a 27-minute version of “Dazed and Confused.” 

He also told an amusing story about how once he was hanging out with my father and they took turns playing DJ, and succeeding in riling him up by playing nothing but Frank Zappa. His DJ privileges were subsequently revoked, which is what happens to those who transgress against my father’s sense of decorum. 

I spent the night at my father’s house in West Virginia and he drove me back to Virginia the following day. A few days later I met with the filmmaker Paul Rachman at the Amphora Diner in Herndon and discussed the pitch deck for the feature film adaptation of My Damage that we’re working on. Indie filmmaking is many things, but fast isn’t one of them. Hopefully I’ll have more news to share in the coming weeks and months about this project. 

Brooklyn

On Memorial Day I rode with my cousin up to Brooklyn, New York. She lives in Bay Ridge not far from where my mother and my late aunt grew up. Whether it’s the hustle and bustle of 3rd Avenue, the serenity of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, or the surprisingly lush Shore Road Park, I always like walking around the neighborhood. 

On my first day I took a long walk around Bay Ridge and ate an egg and cheese from Bagel Boy, a Bay Ridge institution, which I’ve been dreaming about for months. Bay Ridge has tons of trees, especially in the park along Shore Road. Lots of families were out and about with the kids on bicycles, scooters, or in strollers. Bay Ridge is incredibly diverse, and almost always has been, with people coming and going. People from Bay Ridge tend to stay in Bay Ridge and yet the neighborhood is constantly in flux. The Irish bars have been slowly giving way to halal meat markets and Chinese groceries. One of my cousins, for instance, has been hired by the family of a local bar owner who recently passed away to clean it out and there are all kinds of rumors and speculation about who might buy the place. 

Maybe it’s the knowledge that my late cousin Mark, who wrote some of my favorite horror movies, walked these streets and played in these parks and drew inspiration from the same scenery. Or that my grandfather, whom I never met, tended bar in the neighborhood, but I find being in Bay Ridge to be incredibly stimulating. I can always tell when I’m near the end of a book project because my mind gets restless as if probing for a new idea to latch on to. I’ve written a couple novels set in this part of the borough that are sitting in the proverbial drawer. Maybe it’s time to dust them off…

Yesterday I took the train to the Brooklyn Navy Yard to meet with my agent in his new digs and on the way I met up with my friend the writer Siel Ju who writes a weekly newsletter about her adventures as a digital nomad that I highly recommend. Siel is someone I greatly admire, who possesses a combination of humor and fearlessness that is present in both her writing and the way she lives her life. She’s also a voracious reader and always has great book recommendations. We met at the Russ & Daughter location at the Navy Yard, which is where they bake all the bagels for their stores throughout New York. I had an egg bagel with Irish lox and horse radish and dill cream cheese and it was perfect. 

Being a west coast writer, the New York publishing can feel pretty remote. That’s usually a good thing but there have been times in my career when I didn’t feel like such an outsider, like when I was working at a tribal casino. Visiting with my agent always feels “very New York” and while it doesn’t have the same thrill it’s still cool to see one of my books on display in his office or seeing the books written by his other clients, some of whom I’ve gotten to know. 

After filling up on free expresso and sending off my column for Razorcake, I took the ferry back to Bay Ridge. It was a weirdly involved process that required a short trip to Wall Street where I transferred to the South Brooklyn line and then headed south. 

I’m a sucker for all things nautical, but I don’t think I’ll get over the sight of the skyscrapers rising up out of the water’s edge like a shimmering mirage. 

I’m off to Martha’s Vineyard where I’ll spend a week working with Evan Dando and I’m sure I’ll have plenty of stories to share in next week’s newsletter.