The advent of both the Whole Foods and the Apple Store on Bedford has been a long time coming. And though we all knew each would come about eventually, no one could have predicted that these behemoths of corporate grotesquerie would essentially open the same week, with Apple to follow Whole Foods’ suit by opening on Saturday, July 30, just in time to really heighten the hell feel of North Brooklyn.
But worse than the fact that each exists right across the street from one another is the idea that “men” are willing to go into both back to back to tend to their food and technological “needs.” To preserve at least a modicum of dickfulness, a “man” should attempt to rein in his lack of genitalia by opting for just one of said stores in an outing, as going into one after the other indicates not only a pod person mentality, but that there is a Ken flap of skin where the puh-neese should be.
If there’s one thing Julia Roberts taught us, it’s that Rodeo Drive is the devil when it comes to highlighting class division. But perhaps if Pretty Woman had been shot post-2015, Garry Marshall might have opted instead to have it take place on Bedford Avenue, as this is the location that has now outshone Rodeo in terms of how much it costs to rent out a commercial space there.
The new Rodeo
Indeed, if it isn’t stores selling “high-end” clothing and/or jewelry like Amarcord and Catbird, then it’s corporate offerings like Duane Reade, Whole Foods and, soon, the Apple store. With fewer and fewer “mom and pop” entities able to afford the rent on Bedford Avenue, it’s only natural that it will soon make Rodeo Drive look like the old Bedford Avenue circa 1999. Because when it comes to neighborhoods, the motto is always: Recycle, reduce, reuse. So if you’re a “man” either 1) shopping on Bedford or 2) subsidizing someone else the way Edward did for Vivian to shop on Bedford Rodeo, be sure to buy a gold-plated dick to substitute the one you’re missing as well.
There are countless condos in Williamsburg that stand for the very core of what douche baggery represents. So what makes 101 Bedford at the corner of N. 11th and Bedford Avenue so different from places like The Williamsburg or The Edge? For one, the club-like atmosphere of the lobby and common areas and, for another, the glass boxes that comprise the aesthetic of every apartment. It is just the sort of place one would expect a pod person to live.
Club lounge interior
With the cheapest box being $2,700 a month, it’s easy to see why 101 Bedford attracts such dickless clientele. Amenities alone cost an extra $600 a year, so there’s no room for financially poor “men” here, just genitally poor ones. While they sun themselves on the roof deck and hover over the edge of their perch to peer at all the people beneath them, one has to wonder: What ever happened to “men” who could build their own houses? Ones that had personality and a no frills vibe. ‘Cause ask any woman and they’ll tell you they’d rather fuck Abe Lincoln than some guy who lives in 101 Bedford.
Wild Ginger, like Spike Hill, is one of those Bedford “staples” leaving the area that one shouldn’t really bother getting verklempt about. Any “lady” who has ever been taken on a date there was presumably going out with a dickless “man” who either 1) was too cheap to take you somewhere legitimately expensive or 2) was attempting to channel some annoying health-conscious aura.
Delicate fare is for delicate “men”
Unlike other Bedford entities that have permanently gone the way of the dodo, Wild Ginger is simply moving to N. 10th closer to Driggs. Big fucking deal. If you’re going to make the effort to move, you might as well get the fuck out of Dicklessburg Williamsburg the way Trash Bar did. And any “man” who gives enough of a shit to continue patronizing a place that serves delicate fare like cilantro tofu and ginger snap snow peas is probably not concerned enough with his bedroom technique/is probably as non-committal as the term “pan-Asian cuisine.”
Working at the Apple Store in any part of New York City already seriously calls into question one’s manhood, but to do it on Bedford Avenue is to willingly cede all traces of your dick. The strategic location of the store not only embeds the coffin of old Williamsburg deeper into the ground, but also infers you’re willing to subject yourself to retarded milfs who are never going to let you sleep with them.
A mock-up of the future Apple Store at 247 Bedford Avenue
Not only will you see stroller upon stroller attached to various Williamsburg women who will merely ask question after question until finally using their husband’s credit card to buy a new iPad, but you’ll also suffer from the blue balls of never penetrating their memories or their vaginas. Spare some of your dick by instead seeking employment at the nearby Bagelsmith. ‘Cause the drunk women who roll up in there are far more likely to give you the time of day.
Everything you need to know about the evolution of Williamsburg is summarized in the existence of the Dunkin’ Donuts on North 7th and Bedford. It’s every shade of wrong, I don’t care how elegant and inviting the wood paneling and gold-tone logo looks to you. For you to give in to its temptations is an utterly dickless move.
Dunkin’ Donuts, as only Williamsburg could imagine it
Whether you’re going there for a “coffee date” or just picking up a cup on the way to the subway before you go to your freelance job in the city or, more than likely, at the edge of the waterfront, there really isn’t any viable excuse for you to set foot into this establishment. You’d show more respect going into the Tasti D-Lite at the corner of North 6th. At least it’s been there longer than the span of Miley’s career.
We all know she’s the entire reason for you’re being. And probably how you can afford to live in Williamsburg for the most part. But, at some point, you have to detach your umbilical cord in order to reattach your dick. Being too into your mother is not only Oedipal in the most cliche way, but also a detriment to your emotional and physical (read: dick) development.
An archetypal Williamsburg mom.
Although you’ve probably been nurtured in avant-garde private elementary schools your whole life and have been fed a steady diet of Fresh Direct by your tattooed mother, you’re ultimately never going to land another woman (or probably in your case, man) if you don’t stop letting her dress you and take you out to weekly brunches at Fabiane’s. Just let the woman live her life so you can finally live yours. Once you take your mother’s metaphorical dick out of your own asshole, you can at last put yours in someone else’s.