I'm come to the conclusion that in every city there is a residential section that cabs avoid for for a special reason. It's not robbery at gun point, or that the residents usually leave smears or puddles of biology on the seats - no, it's because their sense of direction fails them there. Internal compasses no longer point to true north, as though there is a UFO eternally hovering over the row homes and brownstones. Even GPSes throw up their electronic hands, and navigator starts saying things like "Might as well turn left".Fishtown is such a location.
Recently, Fishtown has become a hotbed for hipster activity, a haven for vintage clothing, vinyl records, and fairly descent if hard to pronounce beer. My friends, the DZs live there, and every other month or so I find myself getting off at the Gerard exit and sinking low into my chair to navigate to their home. ND - my "sister" - is a speech therapist for the elderly, refereed to by her patiences as Dr. Nicolai. MZ works as a contractor for the government. We've plans to go to Neko Case's concert next month, and the whole block party thing was a last second invite - and ended up being the only one with guts enough to mosey into Fishtown.
This time it was for a block party. Now, the only times I've ever seen a block party was in "Dave Chapelle's Block Party," and "Judge Dread," so I was expecting either a great time, or horrid, mindless violence while people with speech impediments make grandiose claims about their role in society and ruin a fairly cinematic line of comics. Wasn't too far off, as it turns out.
MZ met me at the door, helping me with the case of beer, before we were joined by ND, the lady of the house. There is the normal chit chat as ND pours us lemonade vodka (the secret: no water) before we go out to brave the heat. Water is pouring down the sides of the street, and the cars used to corden off the party portion of the block were constantly in danger of being t-boned by passing traffic who seemed confused by three cars parked diagonally to keep them away, and the tents were peopled by the good folk of Fishtown sinking quickly into an inebriated haze.
Once MZ's parents arrive, I sneak over to a non-party section behind a florist for a cigarette. After helping two of the cars park, I ended up helping the band (they're having a band?) unload their gear, and one of the girls asks if I know the guys or I'm doing it "Out of the goodness of my own heart", and then smiles when I say "Uh...I was...you know. I was just there." Once everything is out of the trunks, I bail, know that any continuation would result in my breaking something beyond repair. Returning to the tent, ND laughs. "Leave it to you to wander around the corner and end up joining a band!" We dance a little to the greatest hits of the 1950's while the band set up, and after an hour the band kicks off. The "Goodness of my heart" girl begins singing, and the the covers start flying. MD's father and I sit in our chairs, rocking out and I sign along, keeping my volume low, except when they go into Modern English "I'll Stop the World (and Melt With You)" - the only 80's hit I've never gotten tired of, and doubt I ever will. Once the band ends, the singer ("Horrible", as the band's name is Horrible and the Cupcakes) runs over and give me a hug. It was her second performance, and she wanted to thank me for having fun. I told her she did great and she gave me another hug before returning to breaking down the set-up
The DZs try to convince me to give her my phone number, but I think I understand it. She's going through an adrenaline shutdown, a performer's blessing once all of the fear is gone, and the lights are finally off.
I remain in the tent for another two hours before the gun fire got a bit too close to the street (I wish I was making that up) and then, hugging my friends, went back to Penndel. I was closing the car door when TWVO (I'm trying to figure out a better way to name them, as their initials tend to get a bit strange) invited me out to the diner. I looked to the dark windows of the house, and then back to car. "Five minutes," I said.
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