Want to know the single-worst thing that's actually plaguing New York City's cultural narrative? (Hint: It's not the transplants, Cronuts, or gentrification.)
It's the people desperately holding on to an idea—the people who wax poetic about the "old New York" and how armed robbery isn't what it used to be. It's the Spike Lees (who bitch and moan everytime someone moves into their momma's neighborhood) and the David Byrnes (who take every opportunity to opine about the city's "stifled creativity" epidemic).
These are the true cunts of New York City. It's not Dominique Ansel, Alex Rodriguez, or our new mayor, who eats pizza with fork and knife and roots for the Sox. It's the people that just won't let go. In their perfect world I'm sitting nose-bleed at the Garden for a Talking Heads reunion show. Fuck me, right?
Sent from my iPhone, from a Sbarro in Times Square.
Does your town or city qualify for paradise status? Feel free to send your pitches to firstname.lastname@example.org. Don't be shy.