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Vice Blog

NEW YORK - STATEN ISLAND IS MADE OF TRASH

I have only lived in Staten Island for a few weeks, and already I've found myself defending it pretty much on a daily basis. While still in my old apartment in Williamsburg, I had a handyman come over to fix some holes in the wall and when I told him where I was moving, he was like, "Why, are you getting married or something?" I'm not even really sure what that meant, but I'm pretty sure it was an insult. Other responses come in varying levels of disgust. First people will usually make fun of the fact that by living on Staten Island, I am basically telling the world that I enjoy laying my head down at night on a floating pile of burning trash.

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Yeah, Staten Island is a landfill–I get it. But at least here I don't have to SEE the trash…unless I am walking around outside with my eyes open and looking at people. So then after the landfill business, people like to ask me if I'm annoyed with the commute on the ferry. What is annoying about having to leave an hour earlier than usual so that I can float over to Manhattan for free and high five the Statue of Liberty on the way? I am not that eager to get to work anyway, so that shit could take five hours and as long as I had a book with me, I'd be fine with that. And if I'm headed to or from a place other than work, I'm usually drunk, so who cares how long it takes?

The funny thing about Staten Island is that you have to walk for eight years to get anywhere, and there is nothing normal waiting for you when you get there. I live on top of a big hill, so the worst part of my day is that final stretch coming home. By the time I reach my front door, I am too winded to even stand up straight. When I leave the house, I try to stay out as long as possible just to avoid that hill. It makes me feel safe though because it's not like any hoodlums are gonna come wheezing up that thing to try and steal my unmentionables in the middle of the night. And I'm pretty sure my neighbors are all actual zombies, so there's no threat there.

It's also fun to note that if you need to go grocery shopping, or go out to eat in Staten Island, you are just not going to be able to do either of those things in any convenient way. I'm sure that other parts of Staten Island have food and stuff, but my neighborhood doesn't, so I have been eating at Taco Bell and Popeyes twice a day for a while now. There are a few smaller grocery stores near me, but they all look like someone closed down a dentist's office, lined up a few dusty cans of Goya beans on the reception counter, and put an open sign in the window. If I want name-brand toothpaste or something crazy like a scented candle, I have to import it.

The locals are the best part. People like to joke about how Staten Island is filled with trashy rejects who sell drugs and start fights on street corners, but I haven't seen any drugs, only trashy rejects–which I keep in good company. About a week ago, I had a friend visiting from California and we went to a local bar called the

Cargo Café

. My first taste of Staten Island nightlife was pretty mild, considering all that I had heard. The only major highlight of the evening was when a drunk girl asked my friend, who was waiting for me outside of the bathroom, how long I was going to take in there. The girl was like, "Are you gonna take that long, because I literally take like 15 seconds." And then my friend was like, "Really, 15 seconds, huh?" And the girl was like "Well, maybe a little bit longer."

Moral of the story is that I pay $750 a month for a 1,200 square-foot apartment in some nutty lady's house, and the neighbors don't mind me wandering up and down the street late at night waving a wine glass around. That alone is worth having an embarrassing zip code for. KELLY MCCLURE