An Intro to Flatbush Nightlife

The first and last thing my father said to me on move-in day was “Remember, this is not a vacation.”  But he couldn’t have been more wrong.  This is JUST like all my college spring-break vacations.  I feel like I have taken permanent residency at a Breezes resort in the Bahamas.

And the nightlife is no exception.  So far, I have only discovered one bar in the neighborhood–Mango Seed Restaurant.  In the bar’s defense, it is really a hidden gem on Flatbush.  Sandwiched between a high-end wig distributor and Goodwill Gospel store, Mango Seed is on the cutting edge of Flatbush innovation.  I checked in, liked the Facebook page and started following @MangoSeedDining on twitter.  5 days away from being mayor?  Holler at your girl.  (Sidenote: I am still dying to know what is actually sold at a Goodwill Gospel Store.  Any thoughts?)

Overall, Mango Seed exceeded my expectations.  They serve my favorite kind of drinks, extra strong, and I didn’t even have to hit on the bartender to get Boys II Men played before 11 p.m.  On top of that, the servers were really friendly and polite.  And by polite I mean they did not start the conversation with “Oh, you MUST be new to the neighborhood.”

Hopefully, this is only an small introduction into Flatbush nightlife.  I’ll be scouring the streets over the next few weeks to find some other local watering holes to call my own.  As for tonight, I will be returning to Mango Seed for karaoke! It’s rumored to be the “it” place on a Thursday in Flatbush…..(besides Popeye’s Chicken, which always maintains a steady influx of customers into the early morning hours).  Anyone who is anyone will be there and I refuse to be on the outside of Flatbush elite.  Wish me luck, I’ll report back with updates tomorrow!



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Here is a brief summary about my feelings on New York cyclists:

1.  All cyclists are snobs.  This is not my opinion, this is fact.  Trust me, I know snobbery….after all, I was in a sorority–DUH.

2.  Cyclists may be nice in real life but once they spray paint on their bright orange, spandex onesie they transform into a crazed, Charlie Sheen on wheels.  They develop a complete disregard for social norms and common courtesy and resort to caveman-like etiquette.  Today a cyclist gave me the finger because I wasn’t running in the “runners lane”.  This would have been understandable if the running lane wasn’t flooded by 3 inches of water.

3.  In the cycling world, the faster you pedal the cooler you are.   The douchiest of cyclers attempt to travel at the speed of light causing their entire bodies to violently shake on the bike seat.  They even wear gloves to keep their hands from blistering as they hold on to their handlebars for dear life.  Apparently, I am the only person who finds the whole “need for speed” act very amusing.  Everyone carries on as usual while the cyclist with no actual destination to reach does three laps around the take-out delivery boy, carting around now cold lo-mein.

4.  The more I write about disliking cyclists, the more I want to enter the fascist world of cycling.  Spandex, unwarranted rudeness and a false sense of power?  Sign me up!


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If the saying “Honk if you are horny” is true, then the truck drivers in Flatbush are 14-year  old nerds at an all-boys boarding school.  At first, I thought I was imagining things.  I assumed my nerves about moving into a new neighborhood were making me dellusional.  I must be paranoid, I thought….or even worse, maybe I was going crazy.

Needless to say, I was relieved when my roommate asked why every single truck honks incessently as they drive by.  Phew, I’m not crazy….just really really confused.  My roommate and I tried to come up with some logical explanations for the beeping.  Maybe it is a secret truck-driver code, a human-trafficking signal or even just a popular way of saying hello to streetwalkers.  There is no consistent pattern of honking either.  There are long, drawn-out waning horns that echo like mooing cows and there are short, jabbing beeps that leave my eardrums as fast as they enter.  The main honking culprits are white multi-purpose vans.  Eighteen-wheelers, moving vans and tow trucks sometimes join in the fun too.  I was even beeped at by a baby blue Hyundai mini-van yesterday.

I did a little research into the honking trucks of Flatbush but I got nowhere.  I did discover that honking (unless in immonent danger) is illegal in New York and worthy of a hefty fine.  Bad news is that only around 400 honking tickets are awarded each year by NYPD.  Some cranky, sleep-deprived locals have started a petition to end this beeping trend but I have very little faith in their plan.

My solution?  If you can’t beat ’em, join em….

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