My on again off again affair with Brooklyn.

I almost miss the days when I didn't use photographs on the blog. If only because it made describing the ridiculous things I saw so much more entertaining.

Case in point: Skateboarders in South Brooklyn.

Now, I'm no Vanessa Torres, but I just name-dropped her, so I deserve at least some poser cred. And "poser cred" is all I deserve... because I LIVE IN BROOKLYN NOW. Skaters in Brooklyn look just like skaters at the Puente Hills Mall -- tools. The only thing that is supposed to make them feel holier than the 'burbs is the fact that you can see Manhattan in the background instead of a big ole car dealership.

On a nice sunny day, I'll go ambling through the neighborhood, when what to my pleasure, a pack of teens will be standing on skateboards, wearing some hard-core styles. Black cigarette jeans, distressed Misfits shirt, 10 gajillion dollar sneakers...

Now, see, I used to love watching skaters, if only because I dated one really bad one. Mostly I enjoyed watching him negotiate falling on his ass in front of his girlfriend. "Did she see that?"

So, I stand there and wait for any one of the eager looking kids to do something anything. Though I admittedly look and feel like the encouraging parent or aunt or whatever. Still, I expect their concentrated looks and group formation to signify that I should respect the trick-route that is to birth from the space between us. Fall, dammit. That would be good. If I saw them fall I'd actually clap (to myself). But 9 times out of 10 these guys are just "sitting" on their boards. When they do roll around, they look pissed because they've missed the opportunity to do something Thrasher-tastic, when really they're just scared to mess their hair up.

I hear the following in passing:

"Yeah, I got it for Christmas." (motioning to board)
"Aren't there like, none left?"
"Yeah. I try not to grind on it. (Pause in which they both silently acknowledge the fact there's no way this kid grinds)...'cuz you know, I got another board for that."

You just lost your right to wear that oversized baseball cap with the level bill, young man. Take that gold circle sticker, off...NOW! Until you actually rip something, you are forced to wear something else. A helmet maybe. Or better still, barrettes.

Whatever. I'm a poser too. Friends are going to tell me I doth protest too much. I am the queen of "buying a band t-shirt at a concert before I've heard their album." And you'll still find me defaulting to the only skateshop in South BK to get coffee in their adjunct espresso bar. It makes me feel ten years younger ok? Like the 50-something year old lady I saw in their the other day pimping fluorescent purple Nikes, mom jeans, and a TUCKED IN CARE-BEARS T-SHIRT! No joke I really saw that it was awesome high five.

...Sigh.