Friday, June 13, 2008


I was born and raised in Upstate New York. I had chickens. Our driveway was not paved. We had so many broken cars in our yard it was starting to look like a used car lot. The mailman drove a station wagon. His own station wagon.

You get the idea.

I live in Harlem now with three of my closest college friends. At first it appears that the four of us had thrown a dart at a map promising to move wherever it landed. Such is not the case. It started with only three. We moved to New York in search of a job in each our fields, and after a year of living in Brooklyn, and the addition of a fourth room mate we landed in Harlem because it was the only place we could afford. (Although, I’m not sure how long that will last because it as recently re-zoned and in 10 years will most likely be the next trendy SOHO. ) Contrary to popular belief, we are not ducking from bullets. I’m not afraid to walk home at night (although I’m obviously avoiding dark alleyways-given). I’m also not going to pretend that if I had a choice on living anywhere in the world, I would pick Harlem. No way. I will say that I like it here. There’s never a dull moment.
At one point, I realized what an opportunity I had. This could be a real gem. Although I cannot possibly give insight to the inner workings of this historical neighborhood, I can provide a window. Here is the view of an outsider who is now on the inside. This is the view from someone raised in an entirely different environment. I will try to be as honest as possible, and to not sugarcoat anything.
This is the story of four country white girls living in Harlem New York.


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