The Happiest Man in Astoria

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• July 25, 2025

As far as I’m concerned, the happiest man in Astoria could be one of the happiest on Earth. He found it entertaining that I pointed out that I have friends who are rich and famous but aren’t as happy as he is. The man is Igor. A growing Astoria legend.

One of the things I think is special about Astoria is it’s a neighborhood of working class families and out near the park where I live, it has almost a suburban vibe in a place as urban as Queens, with the Manhattan skyline so picturesque off the river. Queens isn’t just a melting pot of New York or America, but the world. And there is something special about that. Unlike Brooklyn, which attracts a certain youth desperate to be cool, the Queens vibe is very much like, “I’m too busy to worry about bullshit like being cool. Just be good.” I grew up in the suburbs and where I live in Queens is quieter than a block on the south shore of Long Island. Astoria has some of the best food, I believe, in the world. I feel extremely blessed to have found the little studio apartment that I call home. I do fear I will soon be priced out of my neighborhood in the near future, but these are worries for a future that isn’t here yet.

While the pandemic was a tough time, probably the best thing that came out of it for me would be my discovery that I had the best neighbor anyone could hope for. Harry, a retired pediatrician, and I would wave to each other, but we seldom talked. This was because I am anti social. I am, also, though, a bit of a pot head. And in the midst of the world ending in 2020, Harry and I smoked a joint together and he told me all about his life, how his parents came here from Greece (Astoria is a notoriously Greek neighborhood) and he grew up in Astoria, went to medical school abroad in Greece, had a practice in Brooklyn. I told him about I had only migrated about an hour from Long Island and that I was a comedian and writer, with hopes and dreams likely too big for me to carry. And just like that we were friends.

Harry is a good cook and I’d come over and we’d bullshit and pontificate, bonding over rock and roll music. Harry’s property is maintained by Igor, a local barber, Russian immigrant, weed and red meat enthusiast who always speaks his mind. If Igor’s barbering skills are as good as his gardening skills, I’d tell gents to get their hair cut by Igor. Fresh figs, raspberries, tomatoes, pears, peaches, grapes, and oh yeah, mary jane, all flourish in Harry’s gardens with the help of Igor. And I, the eccentric existential writer next door, get spoiled with the literal fruits of their labor when we have backyard hangs. Sometimes, Harry’s nephew who is also a doctor joins us, or one or two of the old Italians who play bocce ball with Harry in the park. We drink, smoke, grill, eat, laugh, debate. It’s so supremely Queens. Where else on earth would you find a friendship of a retired doctor, a Russian barber, and a satirist writer getting along famously?

A lot of people who know me well would say I’m not a dog person. I push back on this, firmly believing that I judge dogs like I judge people— individually. If your dog is irritating, it is probably your fault, and I won’t like it all that much. There are few dogs I’ve met that I love more than Igor’s dog, Margo, the sweetest mutt you’ll ever meet. Harry is more aligned with me on how we think people have gone pretty insane over dogs and that the majority of dogs are pretty annoying. But we love Margo. I wish I had a dog like Margo. She is a special creature.

Igor loves life. His job is a job but he likes it. He calls people out on bullshit and has no time for phonies. He loves to be outside in the dirt, with Margo doing her thing. It is a simple life in a not so simple place. He loves this country, despite its flaws. Immigrants often have more gratitude for America’s freedoms than those of us born here, unaware of what it’s like living under different governments. He consumes red meat almost as much as he consumes weed, and while me and the Doc have cautioned him to cut back, he insists it brings him so much pleasure, it’s worth the years cut off his life, though he has also told me how much he looks forward to being 90 and wrinkled (a vast contrast to me, a depressive, who isn’t even sure I want to be alive ten years from now). He is well aware of the darkness in the world. I mean, he’s Russian. Even in their childhood fairy tales children die of famine. Russians aren’t known for sugar coating anything. But none of it seems to get under his skin. Instead, he embraces nature and beauty all around us. He is connected, yet a maestro at disconnecting to the world and he’s a better person for it. If the world is ending, so what. Everything ends. It’s here now. Let’s enjoy it. That’s the vibe. If you have good company and good food and drinks flowing, joints lighting, how could you not be happy.

Though I love comedians, they are usually internally tortured (present company included). The change in is company is completely welcomed.

Igor says Americans are raised on “dreams,” not reality. And therefore life is disappointing. Right or wrong, the wisdom that comes with Igor’s perspective and disposition lies not in his sometimes insane rants, but in the sheer fact that this is a guy who looks forward to all of his days in the morning. He looks forward to meeting new people. To doing yard work. To playing with Margo. To eating red meat. To smoking weed during sunset. Or hanging with his best friend Harry, and sometimes Harry’s neighbor, Lori. What an absolute delight to have such neighbors?

It’s good to be Igor. And it’s also good being in his orbit from time to time. Like I said earlier, I do know some very successful and even famous people who are about a tenth as happy Igor is. He and Harry have become two staples of Astoria living for me. Here, in this corner of the center of the universe, a doctor, a barber and a writer toast marshmallows under the stars. You can only see a few of them, due to the light pollution of the city. They solve no ones problems, but for the sake of a good hang, all the worlds problems are dissolved in the background, far, far away where we can’t see them. Much like the stars we know are over our heads, but can’t see them, the problems are too far away from us to care about anything but the way we feel right now.