Brick City

We grew up in New York, but we had forgotten how brick-y the place is. Riding in the cab from the airport, on the way to MOS-cave (MOS-oleum? Let’s have a vote), we looked out the window at one point and felt almost claustrophobic at the sight of so much brick. Real brick. True, bricklike bricks of brickiness.

Of course, there are brick structures everywhere, includiing the Bay Area. But for the full experience we’re talking about, you need to stand at an intersection where every corner features a six-story redbrick behemoth. It’s like looking up from the bottom of a well.

We’ve been back to NYC a few times since moving to California, but this is the first time we’ve felt ourselves mildly overwhelmed by the most prosaic elements of the city’s architecture. We hope this doesn’t mean we’ve lost our street-cred.

(We’ll save you the trouble, FOS: “Street-cred? You have about as much street-cred as the Amish.” Yeah, well. . . .)