A Nightmare on My Street

First off, let me start by saying this post is not about some neighborhood meltdown. No one was robbed or battered during the writing of this blog. What is it about then? A childhood fear realized in its entirety.

When I was almost four years old I was consumed by many things; Rainbow Brite, My Little Pony and chasing cute boys. (It started early, what can I say?) During one particular chase I ended up in a dark room with the only light shining from a TV in a far corner. A VHS player cranked nosily and a movie crept across the screen. I was mesmerized. By the boy I was chasing of course! But later, I was also intrigued by the screen. Something was happening. Something bad, and I couldn't turn away. A man in a red and black stripped sweater, face leaky and holed, brown Fedora draped on his skull, was creeping across the tube and he was scary. Super scary. Like scary in a way that one little 4 year old could never forget. He was Freddy Kruger. And because of him, I wouldn't sleep for the next seven years.

From the moment I saw "A Nightmare on Elm Street" I lost my sense of cool. Everything scared the crap out of me, even my Carebear if you threw a trashy Fedora on it. At first I couldn't sleep alone at all. When dawn would arrive you'd find me in one of two places: my mother's bed or her floor (if I was kicked out of said bed.) As I grew, the fear subsided, but only by spoonfuls. I had to sleep with the TV on. Then with a night light. And, on the eve of my start to the seventh grade, I gave it my best shot and went to sleep with a hope that nothing would go bump in the night, or claw me to death from under my bed (lovely.) I made it through that night (and all the others that followed.) Until tonight. Tonight I came face to face with my fear.

I was to attend the Fearnet screening of "Fear Clinic" starring none other than Robert Englund. I had to say his name 30 times before finally realizing it wasn't actually Freddy. I floated around the party, Chardonnay in my well-past-four-year-old hand, and while looking at my Blackberry, nearly walked into the legend himself. Looking very distinguished in a grey jacket with the collar popped, Mr. Kruger didn't look so menacing. He almost looked cool. He's just a man. He's just an actor. Nine years of insomnia for what?

I crept up to him. "Excuse me, Mister Englund?"
He turned to me with a smile.
"Because of you, I lost nine years of sleep."
He smiled at me, put an arm on my shoulder and said, "Sweetheart, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."
Then he posed for this picture...





...and suddenly...
I'm scared ALL over again.

=o)

Electric Empire Bridge

Subject: NY

Soundtrack: Jay-Z "Empire State of Mind" and Eddy Grant "Electric Avenue"

I have a friend named Molly. She's a lot of what I am and pieces of what I want to be. When choosing a place for my bday dinner she ventures outside the city (I usually stay w/in 3 avenues of my job. Lame.). "Let's go to Dumbo (Brooklyn.)" So we end up at The Water Street Restaurant. It's the kind of places that screams "You're by the water!" the moment you enter. And that's incredibly cool.

There are mouth watering burgers and a wine selection good enough to make you lick your lips twice. Many things to talk about but we are more like vacationers in a foreign city remembering the woes of our home land. This is awesome.

Tummies full and several brain cells depleted, we are done. "Let's check out the hood," says Molly. I easily oblige. I trust this girl will find fun in anything she adds to her to-do list. We head towards Brooklyn Heights.

Up a hill and over a cobble stoned street, she stops, mouth agape. "What's wrong?" She turns to me and asks, "Can we walk the Brooklyn Bridge?" And it is then I remember I never have. I nod with childish excitement and with a skip we scratch a check onto our bucket list.

It's foggy out. Several buildings disappear into the white-grey thickness above. Captivating is not strong enough a word. Each piece of wood upon which we step reverberates 100 years of existence. I want to laugh. Just because. (What the hell was in that wine?)

We're giddy. It's ridiculous. But we pass a celebrity with a smile on her face and think, she gets it too.

New York City is called a lot of things. I think of only the positive as I gaze from halfway across the East River. I can never leave this place.

An Ipod speaker blares "I want to walk down to Electric Avenue." It's Molly. Now we're boogieing over the last few steps into Manhattan. We're laughing. It's fun.

Simply, because it's New York.

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