Home Pop Culture Observations on the G train.

Observations on the G train.

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Parrot Man On G Train 2

For those of you who never have been to the Clinton-Washington stop- it’s easily the toniest neighborhood of all of Brooklyn. In many respects gauche with it’s Pratt College students prancing and make believing that they are already the artful denizens that they will hopefully one day become – it is also serene, green, expansive and very reminiscent of the grandeur the district once held. From my many conversations with strangers at the local cafe houses (yes – I too submit to the awful habit of whiling away afternoons in trendy little cafes of the beaten path…) it has come to my attention that Clinton Washingoners as I have to call them are a sprightly lot. Until the economic crises came they were flush with cash and quite stunned and pleased with the rampant jack up in local real estate values. Out went the undesirable lot (by that we mean the ones who couldn’t afford the higher rents…alas) and in moved the nouveau riche who often looked well coiffed and who otherwise were well buffered by their parents. That said one could still make out the visage of tall blonde statuesque beauties and the chaps these girls lusted for as they ascended and descended.

It’s when you get to Classon avenue the next stop over you are suddenly reminded that boundaries exist even on the G train. It is at this point that everyone who was blond, gorgeous. executive material no longer existed except of course if you were a student, a scary looking dude returning to the nearby projects or the romantic but totally useless thing called a starving artist. It’s at this moment that life begins to get nefarious on the G train. The name calling of ‘ho,’ ‘bitch,’ and even ‘nigga’ coming at you in full effect. The guy spreading his erect penis and jerking it off a recent transplant of this stop before having his ass hauled back in October this year. It is the fun part of the ride- where the polite rules go out the window and if you are a white person you are somehow reminded of it even if the bill boards tell you we live in a homogeneous environment. Even at this hour the boom boxes are in effect and the few Hasidic jews that have made this part of town their own are slightly miffed at the punk attitude.

By the time the train rolls into the horrid stench called Bedford- Nostrand and its sister slut stops- Flushing and Broadway it is only the brave who are still on this train. A neighborhood still littered with soup kitchens, crack houses and bodegas that illegally sell cigarettes for 6-7 dollars.
Of course this hasn’t stopped the skeezy looking hipster from moving and taking advantage of the cheap rents and the fresh first love of New York City. By this stage I am looking at young students, punk glam kids with bullets for necklaces and overtly pierced body parts and bulging tattoos. Of course they are supremely cool, make out with people like Paul Sevigny and write for the types of blogs that one can’t seem to put away despite the stupefied scandal they are disposed to comment on. It’s interesting to note the foot wear of this lot- sneakers, loafers, handmade English Oxfords (my favorite admittedly) and the occasional Prada or Miu Miu extravaganza that one of these wenches only managed to buy used at some local op shop unlike their Manhattan elk who would prefer not to eat for 6 weeks so they can afford the brand new luxuries that they desire.

It’s once we enter Metropolitan avenue that one notices the central hub of hipsterdom kicking in overdrive. Running for their connection to the L train– their daily connection to Manhattan (for as you all know the G train is a slut that only makes out in Queens and Brooklyn) the kids are a gnarly lot. If one were to catch the train on a weekend after midnight one would find them scattered all over the platform, sometimes puking, pan handling and even making out after they have finished puking. Of course this is very painful to watch for as everyone knows the G train is a temperamental bitch and her weekend visits are far between and so having to tolerate young nihilistic misfits from Idaho, Ohio and where ever else hopeful young Americans congregate from can be a painful exercise in existential torture.

It’s once the train heads into Greenpoint one notices the stolid working Polish laborer. Proud, diligent, unresponsive to the latest trend and at times disposed to the odd drink and passing out on their seat. By this stage the hipsters are rare and the train is left to the working class who have to hustle in the day to day to eke out a living and the occasional panhandler who is always hustling for spare change and your sympathy. It’s by the time when I arrive at the final stop of Court st a seedy neighbor hood with the PS1 gallery, Citicorp building and dingy looking ware houses that make the landscape that I am inclined to own up to my own sins and head back at last home and my waiting land lady…

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6 COMMENTS

  1. The author is an upstart who probably grew up in the inside of some highly pressed starched
    rectum. Please go back to the pony shows you obviously prefer – and please leave the G line alone!

  2. Reading this article I picture the author to be a completely vapid right wing who just moved to New York and is living in the Upper East side. You completely have no clue as to what New York is or what it stands for, especially Brooklyn.

    “Out went the undesirable lot (by that we mean the ones who couldn’t afford the higher rents…alas) and in moved the nouveau riche who often looked well coiffed and who otherwise were well buffered by their parents. That said one could still make out the visage of tall blonde statuesque beauties and the chaps these girls lusted for as they ascended and descended.”

    This quote I assumed was a joke until I had choked down the rest of this atrocity of an “observation”. That attitude is what gives gentrification a bad reputation and white people for that matter (I’m white). New York is about all cultures and classes, and people of different backgrounds living together and riding the same trains together and going to the same bodegas. Its not meant to be some white washed playground strip mall, that posers who want to be “cool” and “edgy” can feel safe in but still say they live in hip Brooklyn.

    I would also like to point out that the author only “observed” six stops on the G train when there are almost 35 stops total on the line. Stay out of Brooklyn you know nothing and I’m sure your shelf life in New York won’t last long.

  3. Contrived, elitist, classist, – doesn’t look I’m doing to well here. I should’ve stayed on the G train, but then again maybe it’s a good idea you eventually all got off too.

    Oh dear…

  4. what did the hipster and yuppie bashing hit a little close to home? its ok because if we didn’t make these distinctions how could we tell that I DON’T WANT TO BE IN YOUR COMPAMY please please please leave Brooklyn!!

  5. wow, what a classist, elitist, retarded article.
    oh, let’s “ride the G train” and have a little adventure!!! what a cool, i mean, stupid idea.
    how about just treating people on the G as people instead of lab rats and little sounding boards for your stupid retarded barbs and quips.
    seriously, you’re not clever.

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