An endless array of olives

I did not leave Brooklyn for the whole weekend. That said, I managed to see Swedish furniture and mermaids; eat Turkish food and yuppie cupcakes; and attend a Republican book party. All in Brooklyn.

This is somewhat helping me with my regret of the moment, which is that Jo and I did not move to Queens. Astoria, or Greater Astoria, or whatever the area was we took a look at, seemed far superior to Park Slope. When I mentioned to anyone that I was considering this move, my sanity was questioned. But why? Why would lower rent, less smugness, a comparable commute, and proximity to Greek cafés and groceries possibly seem like a bad idea? The answer is that Everyone Loves Park Slope. It's the Obama of neighborhoods. If you don't like it, no, if you don't love it, you're the one with the problem. As someone who likes--but does not love (or for that matter hate, or else I'd have moved)--both the candidate and the neighborhood, I do sort of feel like a bad person. There's so much about it that's great, and while what initially drew me to the area still holds, there are drawbacks to liberal paradise, the East Coast edition.

But I'm kind of, kind of, coming around. Thanks to Northern European household accessories (and to a certain Northern European individual capable of installing said accessories--window shades, at last!), my apartment no longer looks like a grad-student hovel. Sure, for an infinite selection of olives (a dreamlike vision, much like that of having a dishwasher) I have to go all the way to Sahadi's, not to a corner grocery store, as might have been the case in Astoria, but as first-world problems go, this is minor indeed. The contrarian in me wants to hate, but the UChicago alum in me who remembers life without ready access to non-rotten fruit and fancy cheese is still a little bit thrilled.