I try to live each year in Manhattan as if it’s my last one here. Because, one day, it will be. On my Facebook, I shared The Onion article 8.4 Million New Yorkers Suddenly Realize New York City A Horrible Place To Live, and I’ve also seen it spreading online faster than herpes. It’s a satirical piece, but I think it struck a chord with many of the other 117,000+ people who shared the link on Facebook. From the piece: “I always had this perverted sense of pride because I was managing to scrape by here,” said Brooklyn resident Andrew McQuade, who, after watching two subway rats gnawing on a third bloody rat carcass, finally determined that New York City was a giant sprawling cancer. “Well, fuck that. I don’t need to pay $2,000 a month to share a doghouse-sized apartment with some random Craigslist dipshit to prove my worth. I want to live like a goddamn human being.”
I adore this city. I do. Seriously, there are millions of reasons to love New York. At the same time, I miss some of the “quality of life” things this city doesn’t offer very well: quick access to nature, healthy outdoor air quality, large living spaces, opportunities to see the people I care about on a more regular basis, the ability to save tremendous amounts of cash instead of flushing it down the drain for rent, etc., etc. Funny enough, people say my ambivalence about living here — instead of a newbie’s affection for it — makes me a real New Yorker. It’s kind of like how all those French people who complain about Paris are still Parisians.
For now, I’m soaking up the best of NYC. I spent my sixth New York Labor Day Weekend sitting in the city’s best parks, dropping by world-class cultural attractions, brunching with friends and enjoying much needed time off. I went with David to the Metropolitan Opera to watch a 2010 Summer HD Festival free screening of La Boeheme. (If you’re in the city and free tonight, they’re showing Carmen.) Friday, I went to Brooklyn with Rach, Shoshi and Stacie for Desiree’s homemade cheese biscuits, heirloom salad and mussels. Pear martinis flowed freely and, during some point that evening, I did a dramatic rendition of BeyoncÃ©’s performance in Obsessed. Saturday and Sunday was for brunching with Karlyn, John, Matt and Julia as well as hanging in Central Park. Will I still live here when I’m a 40, 60 or even 70-year-old woman (rocking legs like Tina Turner, I hope). Who knows. Anyway. Just a random rant I wanted to get off my chest. Hope you all enjoyed pleasant Labor Day weekends. More soon.
Image credit: Erin Pettigrew