It’s kind of insane how spoiled you get growing up in New York City. But when you’re a kid you don’t really give a shit. You’re just so happy to be out walking in the street. You were just so self-sufficient, if you had your friends. You would grab your 40-ounce beer and put it in a paper bag and go sit on the steps of the Met. I remember we would just ride on the subway because it was somewhere to sit and drink beer. Then we would ride back home again.
There was a real split between kids that I knew that lived on the East Side and kids that lived on the West Side. The kids from the East Side were a bit more Brooks Brothers, Ralph Lauren. We weren’t quite as popular as they were because when you’re in fourth and fifth grade, girls like the guy that’s got the haircut that everyone else has and is wearing the nice fucking Sebago loafers and some Ralph Lauren top.
Kids tease you if you’re wearing the wrong color socks, so everyone made fun of my British accent—they’d call me “Commie” inexplicably. I developed two accents. You’d be on the phone, and you’d be like, “Yeah, man, what are you doing this weekend?” Then my mother would call on the other line and the call waiting would go and I’d be like, “Oh, I’m just in the bath, Mummy.”