Little Brett, Big City

  Those Facebook algorithms are something, right? Last week, I had a big ad on my feed about rentals at the "The Sloane NYC," the former YMCA Sloane House on West 34th Street and my first "home" in Manhattan. Built in 1930 by the same architects behind the New York Stock Exchange and Saks Fifth Avenue, the William Sloane House originally provided 1,493 for young men and enlisted personnel in the Army, Navy, Marine Corps and Coast Guard. Their amenities then included a "barber shop, billiard and social rooms, a physician, and employment services.  It cleans up nice as you can see above. The new ad claims "Location Is An Amenity." That was not the case when I stayed there in 1989.  Steps away was 9th Avenue, a stark, no-man's land I was afraid to walk through at night.  Over on 8th Avenue, smelly Penn Station and the back-ass of Madison Square Garden were the "highlights" of that area. You also had the grand old Post Office too, which just

This week in 1989, Tone-Loc was blocked from the #1 spot on Billboard's Hot 100 by Paula Abdul and her first hit song "Straight Up."  Sharp-eyed readers will note that this is the third mention of Abdul on this blog, something I never would have guessed when I launched this.  Anyway, Tone-Loc's "Wild Thing" rocketed into the hearts of music lovers around the world thanks to a classic hip hop move: Borrowing an element from something that was tired at the moment and re-inventing it for new audiences.   In this case, the song's guitar riff and drum roll were instantly identifiable from Van Halen's "Jamie's Cryin'" off their first album in 1978 (!) According to Wikipedia (the primary research resource here at "Little Brett, Big City"), the Van Halen management team allowed the sample to be included in "Wild Thing" for a flat fee of $5,000.  But apparently the band members hadn't heard anything about it. Drummer

I was running low on cash. Getting on Club MTV was looking easier than getting a bank account in this town.  I had brought my cashier's check from Ohio with me to the Citibank next to Penn Station. But the branch associate with a very trim mustache denied my application for the same employment and housing reasons I had already heard at Chemical Bank and Manufacturers Hanover. Apparently, I looked homeless.  "But I have a credit card with you here," I said. "I'm a customer in good standing, no,  great standing."  "That's wonderful, sir. But that's a separate national division. Local branches are run by local policies and regulations."  Code Red. My chest tightened as I whirled out through the revolving doors. I had to keep trying. Immediately. I sprinted to the Chase Manhattan branch two blocks from the Citibank. Once inside, I took a cleansing breath and pulled back my hunched shoulders. Mrs. Washington greeted me warmly, guiding me to he

After flipping through the turnstile, I wandered onto the subway platform and put down The World's Heaviest Briefcase. A map attached to yellowed tiles looked like rainbow spaghetti -- so many tangled and color-coded subway lines that went across Manhattan, The Bronx, Queens and Brooklyn. Damn, this town was like its own small country. And one misstep and I would be hurtling under a river to the wrong borough.   As hot as it was in the city, 34th Street felt like a Canadian lakefront road compared to The Gates of Hell down there. The fetid air stank just like that sickly sweet smell up in Penn Station above. Fluorescent lights revealed just enough soot, chips and holes to confirm that the Metropolitan Transportation Authority was low on cash for maintenance.  A guy, a few years older and similarly suited up, came over to me. Wow, was he going to ask me out? "Hey, do you know which train I take to Long Island City?" Oh, guess not. And I thought Long Island was just an isla