I heart Astoria
Photos of Queens, a great borough of NYC, were promised months ago. You'll never see the hairball the size of a shrunken head that was removed from Daughter's shower drain. Nor will you see the interior of the dorm room-squared-size apartment. Alas, Daughter has left Astoria. Home of Louis Armstrong. Birthplace of Tony Bennett. and the location of the best pizza in the New World. She's crossed over to the epicenter of hipness: Brooklyn.
But nevermind that. I still heart Astoria. Where people are comfortable with who they are. Italians. Greeks. Balkans. Russians. Hispanics. A big swirl of humanity with more exposed flesh than you ever want to see on both men and women. If your fashion quotient is low, you'll feel right at home here.
Astoria residents have all their bases covered: the sacred and the profane.
There are more front yard shrines per capita than anywhere else in the world. Except, perhaps Ireland or Italy. The Blessed Virgin, St. Anthony, St. Joseph, Jesus and other top 10 saints are smack dab out in the front yard next to the air conditioner or trash can. There's a comforting charm and unpretentiousness that I love about people who aren't afraid to let the neighborhood know just where they stand. Red State? Blue State? No. This is the Shrine State.
Then there's the flip side of faith. Every block has a psychic or tarot card reader. Trust in Jesus, or St. Joseph but just in case check out what Mrs. Rosa has to say.
Did I mention the food. Yes. Great food. Plenty of it. Greek. Italian. Even Balkan cuisine. Who knew the Balkans have a defined culinary tradition. My favorite low concept, high color restaurant was Mano's. For a mere $3.75 a cooked-to-order burger and large drink. Have a smoothie while you're at it. Papaya, of course. But other tropical flavors abound.
Next time you visit NYC -- venture out of Manhattan and explore Astoria. You may even see the size XXXL woman with her fanny pack fastened securely above her bosom. A booby pack, if you will. It's a whole new world and it's just a short subway ride away.
Enjoying: The usual toast and coffee.
Considering: a front-yard shrine. I'll consult Mrs. Rosa to ensure the time is right.
But nevermind that. I still heart Astoria. Where people are comfortable with who they are. Italians. Greeks. Balkans. Russians. Hispanics. A big swirl of humanity with more exposed flesh than you ever want to see on both men and women. If your fashion quotient is low, you'll feel right at home here.
Astoria residents have all their bases covered: the sacred and the profane.
There are more front yard shrines per capita than anywhere else in the world. Except, perhaps Ireland or Italy. The Blessed Virgin, St. Anthony, St. Joseph, Jesus and other top 10 saints are smack dab out in the front yard next to the air conditioner or trash can. There's a comforting charm and unpretentiousness that I love about people who aren't afraid to let the neighborhood know just where they stand. Red State? Blue State? No. This is the Shrine State.
Then there's the flip side of faith. Every block has a psychic or tarot card reader. Trust in Jesus, or St. Joseph but just in case check out what Mrs. Rosa has to say.
Did I mention the food. Yes. Great food. Plenty of it. Greek. Italian. Even Balkan cuisine. Who knew the Balkans have a defined culinary tradition. My favorite low concept, high color restaurant was Mano's. For a mere $3.75 a cooked-to-order burger and large drink. Have a smoothie while you're at it. Papaya, of course. But other tropical flavors abound.
Next time you visit NYC -- venture out of Manhattan and explore Astoria. You may even see the size XXXL woman with her fanny pack fastened securely above her bosom. A booby pack, if you will. It's a whole new world and it's just a short subway ride away.
Enjoying: The usual toast and coffee.
Considering: a front-yard shrine. I'll consult Mrs. Rosa to ensure the time is right.
posted by MadgeMc at 9:36 PM
2 Comments:
Come back anytime. We'll get another taste of the tropics.
I can assure you, Astoria is still the melting pot of the country. And it still smells like garbage.
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