DADWAGON

When I first heard that the Gowanus Canal had been designated a Superfund site, I had a typical New York parent’s reaction: What will this do to real-estate prices in my neighborhood?

I mean, I suppose I should be worried about the effects that the century-plus of toxic mayonnaise leaching out into the surrounding lands might have on my crotchfruit, but it’s not like I moved here—to the edge of Boerum Hill, about a block or so from where the canal begins—utterly ignorant of the waterway’s history. In fact, I like to imagine I’ve benefited from it. How else to explain the near-simultaneous pregnancies in three of the four units of our co-op? Superfund? More like Superfecund! Boo-ya!

It’s really quite amusing, actually, to read about how a simple EPA designation will alter the fortunes of this forlorn little corner of Brooklyn. Some developers can’t get funding or insurance! Others are going ahead with their plans!

But Gowanus is already developing, as Fucking Hipsters know very well. You can go swimming in Dumpsters, watch Malaysian singer-songwriters and dance to house D.J.’s in a fake garden on the canal’s banks. For a few minutes, I even considered getting a membership to Proteus Gowanus, an art space with a reading/writing room. (In true hipster fashion, they call it a “study hall.”)

There is one aspect of the Gowanus cleanup I hope will remain untouched: our neighborhood hooker. Oh, I’m sure there’s more than one, but I’m thinking of the one just down the street, visible from my window if I use a telephoto lens, who said “Hello, honey” to me one night when I was walking over to Theodore’s place. She seemed like an anachronism, a forgotten leftover from the area’s distant past, a PCB, a toxic event, a charming outpouring of untreated sewage.

The cleanup is supposed to be finished around 2019, at which time we’ll have a lovely greenspace where Sasha—by then 11 years old!—can sip the fresh waters gushing toward New York Harbor. I hope Our Hooker sticks around till then, because if real-estate values go up, I may be able to afford more than a “Hello, honey.”