Park Slope, Urinetown!
The news that Puke Slopers want to turn Prospect Park's Wollman Rink into a pool in the summer instantly made my lunch threaten to come back up, way more than the thought of Chelsea Hotel occupants finding cat litter in their shitters.
I am one of those people who live in Park Slope. I am also one of those people who feels that Park Slope may be sitting on a Hellmouth (minus the hot vampyr booty and the potential for some kick ass slayage while breaking into song). Park Slope is a disaster. We know this. But I stay and I put up with the ever-growing majority; the obnoxious, stupidly dressed denizens with their deluded sense of entitlement because I am lucky enough to live on a beautiful, tree-lined block across the street from the park, in a brownstone so awesomely weird and hilarious that it should have its own sitcom. I am also fortunate enough to have bought my apartment in 1999 and my mortgage is next to nothing—which, by the way, is the only way I could even afford to live in this ridiculous neighborhood, as today's going rate for a basement level studio apartment is about $2.5 mils.
But, here is the thing. If Wollman Rink turns into a swimming pool in the summer there is going to be so much kiddie piss and baby turd in that thing, us "non-breeders" will grow cauliflower ears and an extra thumb just by looking at it. Not to mention, who wants another potential haven overrun and soiled (literally) by the Slope's sanctimonious parental population. Please, people. Cut us second-class-citizens-because-we're-single residents a gd break.
If there is now going to be a pool in Prospect Park at least have some ADULTS ONLY hours. In fact, let's apply that regulation to all venues in this neighborhood. I don't appreciate having to climb over your Lexus-of-strollers, which you cannot be bothered to move aside, out of the way (because apparently one of the perks of being a parent in this zip code is not actually having to be considerate of other people), just to get a cup of coffee—or, worse, an alcoholic beverage! My fave is when the child of an oblivious parent falls at your feet while running or knocks something over on to you and, because you are a human being, you say, "Oops!" and gently pick up the child or the chair that the kid innocently toppled over, and the parent doesn't say a word to you. Not a Thank You or a Sorry. We, the public, are not your babysitters.
And before you write me off as a bitter, barren Brooklynite, I know that not all of you are like this. I realize that there are more conscientious parents out there; moms who don't gather in the middle of the sidewalk with each of their three kids blocking pedestrian traffic while they discuss the merits of belonging to the Food Co-Op or berate "that W-H-O-R-E" on the PSP message boards. I know there are some of you who don't selfishly ignore the fact that their toddler is tossing half eaten gummy bears into strangers' coffee cups on the other side of the cafe. I can also assure you that I often thank all of my stars that I am not you. Or your kids.
UPDATE: Someone just sent me this article by Lynn Harris from Time Out, the kids section. I particularly liked this quote: "'What I hate about Park Slope,' he says, 'are the adults walking around with tense, frozen smiles while their eyes plead for reassurance that they have succeeded in capturing the American Dream.'" He must know Amy Sohn. Wait. Did I say that out loud?
