You Can’t Go Home Again

I’m still visiting New Jersey and having a fun time. I met up with my niece Olivia and her new boyfriend Chris for shabu shabu.

I forget the name of the place but it’s quite delicious and in St. Mark’s Place. In my young and punk teenage years, St. Mark’s was a mix of over priced punk/S&M clothing (Trash and Vaudeville, I’m looking at you!) or head shops. This was during the end of Guiliani’s era and the start of Bloomberg’s mayoral-ship so the brownstones that were previously abandoned were now under renovation. So it was a weird time for that area of the Village. Now, it’s karaoke bars and hard core and super cheap Asian restaurants. Though I am happy that the world’s cheapest dive bar, Continental, is still around.

Sunday was a quiet day. I’m still feeling jet lagged and worn out from the temperature change so I spent the day walking around my town. I did find these doozies, though:

Someone bought a bunch of mannequins and was trying to resell them. These sort of look like ones from Old Navy, though I can’t be sure.

It was neat to see that Union City/Jersey City has managed to stay a little quirky. But these streets are no longer mine and they no longer have a familiar feeling to them. Now that I live in suburbia, I just notice how grimy and dirty the streets are. I miss the fresh air and wildlife that I can see from my apartment. I’m happy to see my mom and sister again but I’ve made the right choice for me to leave.

Goodbye, New York. I really don’t miss you.