A couple of malcontents moved fom my building to Jackson Heights several months ago. Something about more space, cultural diversity, fewer rats, blah blah blah. And now, we find ourselves schlepping out there periodically, when it seems rude to make them come into the city yet again because we can't drag our lazy asses onto the F train. And today there was a chance that we'd get to go on the nostalgia train, up no such luck. We waited for a couple of trains but it didn't come, and then we were going to be too late to the party. Next time we will check the schedule and not rely on hopes and dreams.
So instead I took a nostalgia-like photo.
Jackson Heights has certainly changed since high school when my then boyfriend lived there and I spent a bit of time hanging around. It is now better, more colorful, more vibrant, and more Indians, who have brought a certain bling with them that is charming. Or, perhaps it's that the glumness of being a teenager has allowed me to open my eyes. Or, perhaps, it's that Jackson Heights has retained its essence while the rest of the city is being smothered by glass and steel buildings that come with shiny chain stores. This is what my world was like growing up, and I forget sometimes that it still exists in pockets. Thank god I don't have to revisit my actual life, because that is what nightmares are for.
Of course, I didn't get any photos to illustrate my point so you'll have to go see for yourself.
The last photo is a penguin statue on 75th St dressed for winter. I couldn't get the flash to work and people were waiting for me to stop taking photos, but I post in honor of the third grader who did the dressing, and whose name is unspellable -- Chuky is my best guess.