For the land of the free, and the home of the Russians?

Living in Brooklyn, aka little Russia, has its perks but after a while I question whether it’s the best place for me to inhabit. Kings Highway is one of the “few” predominantly Russian neighborhoods and it’s where I decided to plant my roots. I’m sure many wonderful things can be said about this place but I won’t because it’s not in my nature. Instead I will dispel any positive myths you may have had in your delusional mind.

I came to this country when I was just a pre-teen. I’ve blended in fairly well, for the most part, except for my eastern European looks and a tinge of an accent which I can’t shake off. I used to watch A LOT of Russian television and read Russian books to make sure that I don’t lose my language skills (who are we kidding, I just wanted to keep up with their [pop] culture). I’ve finally managed to wean myself off this addiction and place all my energy into the language and culture of the county I reside in. So what happens when a sudden wave of nostalgia rolls over me? Do I have to cross the Atlantic to catch a glimpse of Russians scurrying around to satisfy my thirst for their latest developments? The answer is no. I just have to knock on my neighbor’s door; or any door on my floor; or any door in my building; or any door inside the building within the five mile radius. Convenient or disturbing? You be the judge.

Kings Highway is a fairly stretchable street. All along its path you got an array of Russian food and clothing stores only to be diversified by an occasional Rite Aid or Sushi restaurant. Meanwhile, there are plenty of Russian pharmacies on every corner that offer much stronger solutions to your everyday ailments. I don’t even want to talk about the popular Russian food store Domino where every Russian family does their shopping. I now know better. Apparently Domino buys their food from other Russian stores and keeps it out in the sun for a few weeks until it’s nice and rotten before placing it out on their shelves to vend. If I ever struggle with constipation my surefire laxative is anything from their deli section; two hours later the contents of my bowels will be on their way to the nearest river. This is better then any “master cleanse”. Now, on to the “clothing boutiques”. When I first moved into the ‘hood I needed a place to shop so I gave those stores a shot. What do you know? The $300 shirt is not as “sturdy” as I thought it should be for that price. I’m better off shopping at Rainbow. Same outcome, cheaper price.

Herein lies the problem. My long-lost previous culture, as it turns out, is neither long nor lost. It is alive and well, relaxing in my backyard. Now, instead of seeking out any Russian-related information I seek solace from it. Where can I go? There is only so much time that a person can dedicate to hanging out at Rite Aid reading magazines. Off to the sushi restaurant then. Of course, the only thing that’s Japanese about the sushi places is the employees. The consumption of sushi by the Russians has no rivals. I have a friend who single-handedly supports the business of at least ten sushi restaurants by ordering “all you can eat” on an hourly basis.

There is nowhere to run or hide. I guess it’s back to New Jersey for me then. I better make it quick since the Russians are slowly but surely seeping into to the most remote crevices of that state as well.