The City From Another Universe

From the pages of:

www.policegazette.us

Originally published July, 2012

The City From Another Universe

I once ran a theatre group that cultivated new writers, who without fail would blame an audience for missing details that had never been written. I did my best to stress the writer was always at fault. One aspiring writer even suggested the audience would need to read the play before watching so they could understand what they saw. I never explored if I should be distributing scripts at the door and allow for a silent reading period, or contact potential viewers the night before.

If you're here with me in Binghamton, you probably got yourself involved with the flap surrounding a Binghamton University student that didn't give the most glowing review in the BU Pipe Dream of her time in our city. The article circulated Facebook like a flu, with endless rebuttals and insults. I'll admit, I didn't read the full article. I skimmed for highlights, but I do think the piece was better written than she was given credit. My initial reaction was disgust. How dare she come through praising a nightlife that exists on one single vomit-smeared street while poo-pooing everything else the city has to offer?

Much of the anger came from her comments calling Binghamon a "shithole" and talk of the "creatures north of Main Street." I call Binghamton a shithole all the time. That's because I frequently find human shit on sidewalk. Clearly someone doesn't know shit goes elsewhere. If I had a nickel for every time I talked about mutants and creatures walking the city streets, I would be able to cover the Party Mayor's bar tab for a full week. Have you not seen the shambling examples of misshapen human beings wandering through Downtown? We have our own cowboy! There have been multiple cross-dressing vagrants, and I'm not talking about the bald guy wearing miniskirts and high heels at Flashbacks. Did you know raw sewage used to dump directly into our rivers? That's why you see so many giant carp when you walk across the bridges, and any other fish that comes out of the water are covered in open sores.

The optimists claim there is plenty to do in Binghamton, but on any given night, you will be hard pressed to find anything that doesn't involve drinking or shopping. Sometimes a bar will feature an innovative new band, but if the drunk sound guy doesn't make the music sound like crap, the band members will all have formed new bands next week anyway. There is a theatre scene, and if you manage to find a show not written by Neil Simon, you will be treated to a collection of lines as the actor remembers them, or even better, as another actor improvises to cover the first actor's flub. Every month, First Friday presents a collection of artists that shuffle between galleries, but the stagnation in new blood has made numbers dwindle. If it wasn't for free Franzia, First Friday would have faded years ago. Of course there are carousels! I have my button for riding them all in one day, do you have yours? These are the same carousels used by Rod Serling when he set so many stories here. Even so long ago Rod could see Binghamton was a city from another universe.

Our turn-of-century buildings were majestic before absentee landlords left them empty to rot for years. Now, most aren't even fit for the homeless colonies inside. Less than five years ago, the building on the corner of the busiest intersection in town collapsed from within, only one block from city hall. For years prior, broken glass would tumble from the upper windows as plants growing within forced their way to freedom. The building was demolished, and the intersection was shut down for months, killing several businesses. In addition, thousands of pigeons that had never seen the light of day flooded the city streets. While this was great news for our famous family of peregrine falcons, it meant plenty of new guano for the rest of the bipedal residents. Looking ever-backward, preservation groups fight to keep these buildings standing until that date they can no longer support their own weight and kill a passerby.

I've seen this poor BU student slandered with every insult imaginable, and repeatedly told to go back to her home down-state. Is she from Westchester? Long Island? Don't know, don't care. I am certainly bothered by the sense of entitlement displayed by this and other students. I often feel like Binghamton is nothing but Long Island's used condom, but the late-night date rape scene is far from our only problem. Without pulling any punches, this girl has told us how outsiders see our city. Don't blame the audience, blame the writer. When outsiders see a shirtless man buying drugs on a busy downtown street in broad daylight, what opinion should be expected? How about when they find out he is on city council? We shouldn't be angry for the students that judge us by our actions, we should be angry with the rednecks spewing racism behind the anonymity of the Internet, angry at parents feeding Mountain Dew to infants, angry with the politicians with bigger drug problems than even the welfare crowd is accused of. A promise was made to restore the city's pride, and as term limits will soon push that administration out of office, I don't see where that promise was fulfilled. If we are going to be angry about this student's opinions, we should be angry with ourselves because she hit the nail on the head.