Like many readers of this here blog, I find that living in Park Slope requires that I walk a tightrope of sorts. I enjoy the neighborhood's various charms and relative accessibility on the one hand, yet endure the smug shitheaded-ness of my neighbors on the other. Every once in a while, however, I find that either the charms ain't so charming or, as I recently came to consider, maybe those who share the neighborhood with me aren't the self (or child)-absorbed wankers that I've pegged them to be.
As a semi-professional freelancer, a large portion of my monthly income arrives in paper checks via the U.S. postal service. The daily kerplunk of magazines, letters and junk mail (mostly addressed to people who moved out three years ago) is shimmied through the slot on my building's front door. As it scatters across the small main floor it is, for me, like the ka-ching of a cash register.
Ever read a great FiPS post and think to yourself, Hot damn. I'm in lurrrve with this writer. We love you too, reader (well, most of you), and for the next few months we're going to give you an insight into the writing staff here at FiPS. Contributers were paired together and asked to come up with some burning questions for each other so that you guys can learn a little more about the minds behind this FiPS-tastic blog. Because when it comes down to it, we're fucked in Park Slope JUST LIKE THE REST OF YOU SUCKERS.
First up: Erica and Ursula!