'Boken Blue Collar Bon Vivant - 232
Hal Wastes His Wages
June 16, 2007
 

Sure, I whine a lot about living in Hoboken. I like to gripe about the homeless, or babies, or strollers or homeless babies pushing strollers. But the fact is I actually like it here. Anyone who doubts that should read past columns and wonder why else would I put up with all the apparent hassle of living here.

There are clearly many benefits to calling Hoboken home, but what can be missed by many are the benefits of enjoying Hoboken from the standpoint of the “underemployed.” I work a number of nights behind the bar but simply write from home the rest of the week, thus giving me ample time during the day to experience a Hoboken many only glimpse on a sick day.

I get to have a cheesesteak at Piccolo’s (92 Clinton St.). To most, Piccolo’s is little more than an enigmatic legend considering the hours (M-F, 7-4:30) aren’t conducive to the normal restaurant crowd. And while a $7.50 cheesesteak may not be a draw in and of itself, the clincher is the ambiance. It doesn’t get any more old school than Piccolo’s, and if you’re fan of Francis Albert Sinatra they just might be able to find a picture or two.

With an idea of what I might want to eat for dinner, from there I go shopping. First stop is normally butcher—not the butcher counter, but an actual butcher. John & Son’s Meat Market (305 1^st St.) is a regular stop. With prices rising faster than apartment rentals at the other markets, this place is worth the trip.  Next is the baker, and with Antique Bakery right around the corner (122 Willow Avenue), there’s not much more to say. If you live here and don’t know this place, then you haven’t “lived” here. Shame on you.

For the next stop, I forego the candlestick maker and hit Tony’s Deli (410 2^nd St.) to stock up on the finest meats and cheeses. Now it’s not my intention here to get into a pissing match over the best delis, I just have my regular and it happens to be Tony’s. And since my Italian grandmother’s nutz for their mutz, I guess it’s gotta be good. With the shopping done, I drop off the perishables and head out again.

I get to go to CVS and stand in a line that’s less than 27 people long. Of course they’re still out of Mach 3 razor blades, but at least I didn’t have to wait a half-hour to find that out. On my way home I pass a little corner market and grab a paper. Turns out they carry Mach 3 blades behind the counter. Yeah, baby—everything’s coming up Halleron.

I head down to the Pier A and most of the homeless are, for lack of a better word, “out” somewhere else. So I find a nice quiet bench and do the crossword. Life sure is good in Hoboken.

BLAAAAAAAAAAART!!!                            

A siren snaps me out of my idyllic haze. I guess I should get back to work in front of the computer and write something. If for nothing else, so I can continue to afford to live like this. Sure, Hoboken smells or floods or gets a little loud, but I’ve lived here for almost a decade now and I’ll happily call it home.

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