I'm not an American. I'm an Astorian.

All hail The People's Republic of Astoria.

Jun 26, 2025

golden gate bridge san francisco california — Photo by Nick Kelly on Unsplash (the view from Astoria Park, Queens)

Location: Astoria, Queens, New York City

Time: Tuesday, June 24th, 2025 at 7 am

Weather conditions: SATAN’S TAINT

I didn’t know that the biggest heat wave in years would coincide with one of the most important elections of the decade, but in this Year of Our Lord 2025, anything is possible.

It was already in the mid 80s at 7 am when I left the house. An NYC heatwave is a Whole Thing. I don’t care if you’re from the hottest part of the Deep South, you can’t quite understand it until you’ve been in it. The subway stations can easily get 15-20 degrees hotter than it is outside, plus humidity. When the train approaches (if you got lucky), the wind that blasts down the tunnel provides no relief. It feels like you opened a convection oven. Outside isn’t much better. The heat gets trapped by the concrete and the crowds, and the sun bounces off the windows. It’s a different kind of hot.

Unfortunately, I had to go to the office. I had a meeting that I could not skip. I decided to do something I hadn’t done in ages, which was grab a Citibike and ride into work, rather than risk heatstroke in the subway.

I started using Citibike to commute to work in 20211. I had to go back into the office a few days a week, and I was trying to avoid COVID, which meant avoiding the subway. After the initial pants-shitting terror of riding on NYC streets, I loved it. Riding a bike in a mostly deserted city felt like freedom. It also gave me a boost of dopamine. I had been so cooped up in the house, and the adrenaline really got the ol’ brain back online for a few hours.

This was before my ADHD diagnosis, and my focus and attention issues had gotten so bad that I started not to trust myself. I also had a gnarly fall (it wasn’t my fault, but still) going down Crescent Street to the bridge. It scared the shit out of me, even though I walked away with nothing just a little road rash. My confidence was shot, and I started feeling scared every time I got on a bike.

It wasn’t just my confidence. As the threat of COVID receded, and people came back to the city, things were feral. Cars were becoming deliberately aggressive towards cyclists, mopeds and motorcycles were using the bike lanes (and harassing women), and it was getting too crowded. Increased ridership meant that the call for protected bike lanes was more important than ever.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was a vocal supporter of protected bike lanes, and it was a part of the reason she beat long standing Democrat Joe Crowley for my district’s House seat in one of the biggest upsets of all time. Joe Crowley was all NIMBY about bike lanes, and he lost, because he didn’t listen to his constituents. AOC’s election began a series of changes in the neighborhood, most of which were positive. Despite opposition from the NIMBYs, Republicans, and car fetishists — we now have more protected bike lanes than ever.

I proudly voted for AOC in 2018, and I keep voting for her because I like her. She got a lot of smoke for calling our neck of the woods “The People’s Republic of Astoria”, but it kind of is. I am glad she is my rep. She’s a Real One.

This year has brought about a lot of positive change in the commuting game. Now that we have congestion pricing, there is less traffic in general. And, recently, 31st Avenue in Astoria was redesigned. There are now protected bike lanes all the way from Steinway Street to the East River. They also opened the outside lane of the Queensboro Bridge and made it for pedestrians only, so the bike side is just for bikes.

This was a long, hard-fought battle. Bike safety should not be a political issue, but like everything, it has become so. Despite our narrow roads, jammed highways, and backed up bridges, many people are still vehemently anti-bike, and rage against any bike/micromobility initiative. Republicans here view cyclists as their enemy, because they are nothing if not petty assholes who burn gas for fun.

Eric Adams (who is effectively a Republican) is doing the most to make things harder for us all. Good thing he’s gonna eat shit in November! BYE BITCH!

Anyway… back to that sweltering Tuesday morning, where the humidity was making me wonder if I lived in Queens or in Florida.

I walked to my polling place and filled out my ranked ballot. I ranked Mamdani #1 even though I had reservations2, because fuck Cuomo. In second place was Brad Lander, because he is a stand up dude and also a progressive, and I will be damned if it didn’t warm my heart In These Times to see a Jew and a Muslim enthusiastically cross-endorse each other.

My civic duty completed, I went to the Citibike rack, strapped on my helmet, and prepared to depart. I felt a bit nervous. It was my first bike commute in years, and I had flashbacks to some scary moments. I took a deep breath, got on the bike, and headed down 31st Ave.

The section from my apartment to Steinway Street (which is only about a half a mile) has a bike lane, but it isn’t protected yet (allegedly, it will be by this time next year). It was a little scary, but I did it. After crossing Steinway, I entered the protected bike lane, and I was impressed as hell. The new bike lanes are wide, smoothly paved, and have all kinds of helpful signs and even traffic lights specifically for bikes. There are no more harrowing left turns due to the traffic re-direction. It is so much safer that its not even funny.

When I got to the bridge, I was delighted. The split bike lane on the QBB used to be only about 5.5 feet wide, which is abysmally narrow. The other half of the road was shared with pedestrians and joggers. It was a death trap.

Now? All 11 feet of space, all for us. And not one motorcycle in sight.

As I reached the crest of the bridge, I quietly said the little mantra I started saying in 2021:

“Good morning, East River. Good morning, skyline”.

I love a ritual. And I do love the view from the bridge. 3

I arrived at work, sweaty but intact. I felt GREAT. Instead of dissociating on the train with podcasts for 45 minutes, it was 30 minutes of feeling the breeze and being outside. I was confident that I would be able to bike to the Upper West Side to see my friend and then bike home. That was ambitious of me, to say the least.

We went to the lunch meeting at the restaurant down the block around 12:30 or so. It felt oppressive, and unpleasant, but manageable. When we left to walk back to the office around 2, it was no longer manageable.

Standing on the concrete in the sun was like being on Lucifer’s Patio. Unlike the good kind of patio, you aren’t served a glass of cold rosé. Instead, you are cooked like a frickin’ rotisserie chicken, as if the devil himself planned to serve you at his cookout.

I looked down at my Apple Watch. It said it was 101 degrees. Not “real feel”, that was the actual temperature. We don’t go over 100 degrees often, and usually not in June, when the days are longer. It’s the worst I’ve felt it in quite some time.

Wisely, I jumped on the opportunity to leave work early and take a Lyft to my air conditioned apartment, and I postponed my social plans to the following week. I barely moved from the couch. Heat is exhausting. It really drains you, even when you are in air conditioning, and my ADHD meds make me more sensitive to heat. I was toast.

I did make us some Aperol Spritzes though, which is really the only acceptable cocktail choice in this weather.

When I went to bed on Tuesday night, Mamdani was in the lead, by a large margin. It looked encouraging, but I have learned the hard way that the only thing to do on Election Night is take a sleep gummy, put the phone down, and go to bed. Nothing changes by staying awake for it.

At 4:30 am, I woke up with a horrible calf cramp. I got out of bed, shook it off, and made myself a big cup of Liquid IV with plenty of ice to get my electrolytes sorted. I decided to check my phone to see if the race was called.

For once, the headline of the New York Times did not fill me with dread and rage.

Mamdani had done it. He had won the Democratic Primary.

I wish that I could tell you I felt joy. I didn’t, but I did feel relief. It’s not so much that Mamdani won, it’s that Cuomo lost. New Yorkers looked at the options before them, and said, “I’ll take a chance on something different rather than order an entrée that I already know is terrible”.

I think there’s no possible way for me to derive joy from politics now. I think that the last Presidential election absolutely killed that for me. I refuse to attach my emotions to candidates anymore. I went into this vote knowing almost nothing about Mamdani except his policy positions, that he lives in Astoria, and that my friends seemed excited about him. I knew so little that I was today years old when I learned that his mother is Mira Nair!

I did feel something strange creep in. It felt like hope. I swatted it away like I would a fly. I feel like I can’t afford it. But at least it’s still there, somewhere in my heart.

But then I felt something else.

I felt proud.

I felt prouder than ever to be an Astorian.

I’ll tell a brief story that explains exactly what I love about Astoria.

In 2017, my cat Bean became very ill. She wasn’t eating, and we didn’t know that cancer was ravaging her tiny body. While we were waiting on some test results, I was syringe feeding her every few hours, meaning I was getting very little sleep. I was also hosting the holiday party for my theater company Mission to (dit)Mars 4at my apartment. I was a hot mess, but I had a party to throw. So off I went to run all the errands.

I went to my local wine store, Off the Vine. We’ve been going there since they opened, and now it’s been something like 15 years (!!). When JP, who owns the store, asked me how I was doing, I basically broke down crying. I told him my cat was sick and I was overwhelmed and having a party. He was so kind and helpful, and basically chose my party wine for me, at a reasonable cost. He told me to let him know if we needed anything, and he meant it.

Then, I went across the street to Sorriso, an old school Italian Pork Store that has been going strong for 50 years. We have been going there for basically as long as we’ve lived here. I told them I was having a party, and that my cat was sick, and I wasn’t sure what to get. The owner (Frank, who immigrated here from Italy) asked me what my budget was, how many people were coming, and if there were any dietary restrictions. He put together the whole spread for me, all the while handing me chunks of their fresh mozz and slices of soppressata (both made in house). He sent me home with a huge bag of stuff, and definitely didn’t charge me full price.

The party was a success, and we had a few more days with our sweet Bean before we had to say goodbye. It was a painful time, but the one thing that stays with me is how seen and supported I felt that day.

This is only my experience, and I don’t claim to speak for my neighbors. But I do think that most Astorians would agree that we’re a place where people help each other out when we can. Where you can be on a first name basis with the folks who own your local businesses, many of them immigrant owned and operated. Where you will probably run into someone you know, and be glad to see them. Where you can ask for help, and actually receive it.

Over the past twenty years, I’ve seen the image of Astoria go all the way from “Archie Bunker” to part of “the Commie Corridor”.5 I was actually surprised to learn that the majority of our political representation is Democratic Socialist.

The diversity of the neighborhood is a big part of what Astoria is known for. As of 2023, 36.8% of the residents of Astoria are foreign-born. If MAGA got their way, they’d be deporting a large chunk of our neighbors. They want Archie Bunker back. But Archie Bunker is dead. And, hopefully sooner than we think, another old white man from Queens will be, too.

Astoria is not a panacea, nor a utopia, but its a hell of a lot closer to “Real America” than the one that was foisted upon us by a dumb Alaskan wearing a Bumpit.

As for Zohran Mamdani, he very well could have chosen to live in Brooklyn. Most of the cool kids do. But he decided to live in Astoria.

He’s one of the Real Ones — the son of immigrants, a South Asian, Muslim, millennial Democratic Socialist — who managed to win an election he wasn’t supposed to win.

It doesn’t get more Astorian than that.

It doesn’t get more American than that.

We live in difficult times. This election did not fix it, and things are still very chaotic and very scary.

My husband and I have toyed with the idea of leaving the country. To see what else is out there for us. But in the end, we always get stuck on one thing; we would have to leave Astoria. We built a great life here. It’s the only place I have ever felt like I belonged. That I felt accepted and supported. That I felt free to be myself. I never felt like I had to be cool here. I could just be.

No matter where I was born, where I was raised, or where I wind up — Astoria will always, always will be my home.

And I will do whatever I can to make sure that others get to find their home, too. Not just in Astoria, or in Queens, but all of the 5 boroughs. If you want New York City to be your home, you should get to do just that; no matter where you came from, no matter what your legal status, and no matter what any of these fascist fucks have to say about it.

In that spirit, despite any prior reservations I may have had, I am throwing my full support behind Zohran Mamdani for Mayor. And even if you don’t live here, you should, too.

My favorite keychain, bought at a street fair on 31st avenue.

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The Long Climb

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