The Transplant Draft is an interview series with the newest team picks in the greater Bushwick, Ridgewood, and Williamsburg area.
I don’t recall Michael once saying “y’all,” a problem endemic among transplants who dropped Spanish after getting scared by vosotros. Haven’t we taken enough? I’ve heard “y’all” come from Californian mouths, from New Englanders who can spell “Massachusetts” without autocorrect. Language must be the next frontier.
We should all take a note from Michael’s restraint. He might be a late entrant to Bushwick, but he proves there’s time left in all of us.
I caught Michael at Nook, down Irving Avenue, after Michael’s friend J— struck up a conversation with bossman Andrew about how Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing taught them both only that last word.
J— was just visiting, but Michael had moved in two days prior. This is the type of man who was always going to find a place somewhere in the London-LA-Berlin-Montreal metroplex. Urbane and athletic: a true Laptop American.
I don’t know how he’ll play out on the team, but any addition is a chance for hope. I’m placing a parlay that he’ll find the shape of joy in Bushwick as the Jets exit hell. I’ll bet he can pull his own weight: the book club will be dutifully attended, and he’ll bring Narcan to the club (and know how to use it!).
“30 in Georgia kind of starts in your late 20s. It’s like, everybody’s responsible. People are settling down, getting married,” Michael told me. We’re all escaping things: age, mortgages, the anxiety in being. Running away isn’t always so bad.
So we adapt. We stay flexible. As Michael’s friend J— says of him, “[He’s] more flexible than, like, 95% of the people that do Pilates.”
Aaron Tomey: Tell us about your draft journey.
Michael: This started back in February or January. I had a friend, Julia, in Atlanta. She came back to New York after she finished her master’s. A little while later, I decided to come up. And it was this amazing trip. As a joke, on the first night, we were, like, “Wouldn’t it be fun if we got tattoos together?”
That didn’t end up happening, but I did end up booking a tattoo appointment. And then I had to fly up a month later. And I got a tattoo. It took six hours.
Then I had a conversation with my boss, who works in New York. And I was just like, what are the odds I could get moved up here? So I set a date for October. I feel like, you know, if I didn’t leave my hometown before I’m 30, I’m never going to. I’m going to get too comfortable.
AT: So, your landlord just called me and said they want to raise your rent 23%. What do they have to do to sweeten the deal?
M: What is it with weird deals in this city? When I was connecting my internet in my apartment, Verizon was like, yeah, it’s gonna cost this outrageous rate, but we’ll give you a free Nintendo Switch.
AT: How are you fitting into the team?
M: I think there’s a liveliness to areas like this that is very hard to find in Atlanta. There’s East Atlanta Village and Inman Park, these tiny pockets of walkability and liveliness. But, like, they’re kind of inaccessible if you don’t have a car. Here, there’s people out all the time. It has this energy to it that I feel like you would feel in places like Little Five Points, but it’s just, like, more continuous and over a larger area.
AT: Will you call 311 on your new neighbors?
M: No, man, no. I want them to follow their dreams. You know, like, be loud, be annoying. It’s fine. I’m no saint, either. I’m sure that my neighbors are going to hate me eventually because I have a giant subwoofer in my house.
AT: Your favorite local spot? What are you getting?
M: Knickerbocker Fresh Market. Bacon, egg, and cheese on a kaiser.
AT: Bushwick is so full of culture, so I was curious: have you seen a comedian?
[Michael’s friend J— says: We went to that kind of weird burlesque show with Julia. The Slipper Room. That dude literally showed—I didn’t expect to see, like, full sausage and eggs. I expected to see some, uh, something left to the imagination, you know? ]
AT: When you’re on a walk and there are 3-5 people on the sidewalk, just hanging out, how do you navigate this narrowed walkway?
M: We’re just gonna go around. I, like, I want to avoid them, but I want to be close enough that they’re very aware that I’m doing it.
AT: In case of an interception, what are you tackling skills like?
M: I tried jiu-jitsu for a little while as an adult and it wasn’t my thing. But my good friend’s brother Patrick asked me if I could put him in a chokehold. And it freaked him out so badly he went to the ER.
AT: When Trader Joe’s finally arrives, which decision are you making: dark chocolate or milk chocolate peanut butter cups?
M: I think it has to be dark chocolate. Dark chocolate. Not a milk chocolate fan.
AT: How many product managers do you know?
M: My sister. I know her very well. Everybody else I knew who left work, I don’t really keep in contact with them.
AT: Are you in talks with other teams right now?
M: You know, a little bit. I think I’m going to do some exploring. I’m a little curious about Astoria. Flushing is great, too.
AT: Any improvements that you think the team’s management can make?
M: We should sweeten non-dairy milk with lactose. I was born in the Midwest, so I grew up drinking milk. I think a lot of non-dairy milks are kind of gross because they have sugar, not lactose. For milk enjoyers, it makes all non-dairy milks non-vegan and unfriendly to the lactose intolerant. It is a product for exactly nobody except me. Put the milk back in milk.
After raw milk kind of goes away, this is how we’ll sell conservatives on nut milk alternatives. You know, lactose harvested from your local dairy farms, transplanted into your oat milk. I’m sure somebody will buy that.
M: And what’s your standing vertical?
OUTRO:
Present and fit, on alert for all potential plays: the gem salads and imported ASEAN beers won’t see Michael coming. You can even see in his eyes that he’s got a competitive reaction time.
Michael doesn’t appear to see this place as his playground. He speaks of it with gratitude, despite having just arrived. He knows this is the real gridiron.
He doesn’t seem like the type to walk around in large headphones, to appear impervious to so many things: shit talk and the meet-cute or the rev of engines; the laughter of children learning to ride bicycles; a $20 bill falling out the pocket of another to turn his jog into an ethical dilemma.
Seem, seem, seem: you can only learn so much about a new starter after an hour. But, I believe in Michael, so I’ll take a leap of faith and be more concrete. He isn’t the type to need a soundtrack to enrich his life, like he’s already living in a movie, like he’s truly immune to it all. Our Michael knows something of place, of milk and consideration. He’ll do something with that knowledge. The odds are in his favor.
Aaron Tomey is from Georgia, lived in St. Louis, and now lives in Brooklyn. His essays have previously appeared in Hobart, Bushwick Burner Phone, and Apocalypse Confidential. He can also be found on Twitter: @ecstatic_donut.
Photos taken by Andrew Karpan.
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