Ode to a Day in Bay Ridge

On a particularly lovely spring-like Saturday afternoon in January, Nicholas went for a walk and to run some errands in the little known and somewhat isolated town of Bay Ridge. Little did he know what an adventure he would find.


First a little about Bay Ridge: Once know as Yellow Hook (and currently as the ass-end of the R subway line), for the yellowish soil the original Dutch settlers observed. This name was changed in 1853 after yellow fever struck the area and residents realized what an ill fit it was given the circumstances. The new name was given due to the location of the neighborhood's location next to New York Bay (and the exquisitely clean Verrazano Narrows River), excellent views of which were visible from the ridge that has now become Ridge Boulevard. These views attracted wealthy people, who built extravagant summer homes along Shore Road overlooking the water, many of which are still standing today and worth well over one million dollars (or 100 billion cents). Once the 4th Avenue Subway (now the R line) was extended in 1915, however, many Manhattan workers looking for quieter surroundings began to flow in, transforming the area into a middle-class suburb (paraphrased from Wikipedia).

Nicholas roamed the broad streets and narrow alleys in search of a prize he knew deep down in his heart existed, but couldn’t force his mind to grasp with all his force. His suspicions were confirmed when he arrived at his first destination, the holy grail of all food of the area, Buon Gusto pizzeria. A savory array of foods awaited his pallet as he sat down in the company of his fellow Brooklynites, and their strange language, to enjoy the specialties of the house.

His journey then took him towards the sea to the cool crisp breezes and the loud exotic sounds of the bay’s wildlife, including the rarely seen cargo tanker. The breeze of the ocean filled his lungs while the mysterious language of the Arabic radio station filled his ears, coming from the youths riding in their horseless horse-drawn carriages. He wondered the area for a while collecting a few tokens of his trip, though identification proved difficult as shards from a torn pizza box and an express mail package seem to blend into each other with an ease rarely seen this side of the Fresh Kills relocation center.

The banks of the area provided him with ample time to check his new device, a Bluetooth headset, capable of allowing one to speak on one’s magically cell phone with having to hold anything and thus blurring the line between the chronically insane, chronically ill and the chronically addicted to their cell phones. With his pitiful savings secured for the long term, Nicholas journeyed to his next destination.

As the streets melded together to form a continuous path from the Uno to the Delta and onward to hachi-jeu-hachi, he was suddenly blinded by a light so intense that its source could be nothing manmade. He looked up an heard a voice speak in his mind from a distance so intolerably far that it’s absence pains the heart and bleeds the mind. For when Nicholas heard the voice’s words he knew the truth of his heart and the realization that tomorrow would be a better day, the solution to all his problems could be found near him and the mayonnaise and seaweed are truly the ultimate toppings to any pizza.

With this disturbing information filling his mind, he beat his chest and pulled at his hair, yet unable to yell out as he could not breathe. He looked up to see a rather large horseless horse-drawn carriage, sometimes used by the local militias, or residents with exceedingly small penises, drive straight for him and with a final pow, awake him from his slumber.


He looked out his window to realize that is home was here, in Osaka and that the spring-day of errands and computer work had been replaced by the profession of language instruction and his gracious Japanese hostesses. He was just the dream in the eye of the dreamer. Or was he?



Wisdom of the Day: Solve it and get a cookie.