Dear Brooklyn: YOU DON’T SCARE ME
The last time I was in New York, I was in Manhattan and I got a whole bunch of tweets that went like this:
“If Scalzi was a REAL MAN, he’d come to Brooklyn.” Because Brooklyn is the crucible of manly manliness, apparently, where only the most testosteronic of humans can possibly survive, fending off man-sized rats, rat-sized cockroaches and cockroach-sized amoebae. And, of course, CHUDs, who came over to the borough because the sewer rents in Manhattan just got ridiculous.
Well, Brooklyn, you don’t scare me. I’ve seen the skinny jeans. I’ve seen the courier bags. I’ve seen the chunky glasses. Don’t think I haven’t.
(They were on the CHUDS.)
And anyway, Brooklyn, what’s the deal, thinking you have to impress me with your diamond-hard man-osity? It doesn’t have to be like that, Brooklyn. I like you for all of your awesomeness. Right down to the CHUDs.
That’s why, when I come to you tomorrow, June 14, 7pm at the WORD Bookstore, I’m not gonna come over to prove I’m a real man. I don’t have to do that (my mom says I’m a real man and that settles that). No, I’m coming over because you rock and I want to be part of all that rock.
Come rock with me, Brooklyn.
Even the CHUDs. Because, come on. CHUDs are awesome.