New York is a misanthrope factory. Here's why.

1. Every single action, statement or thought that anyone does, says or has here is in some way pretentious, self-aware, or calculating. A hand movement is never just a hand-movement in New Yawk. Notice how I spelled it Yawk? That was intentional. So was pointing out that it was intentional. So was pointing out that pointing it out was intentional. Okay, my small Texas suburb boy instincts kicked in and now I'm real. Oops, that was just for a second. Now I'm self-conscious again. My yawn just now? It was for effect. And cause I'm sleepy. Man, as Mira would quote me as saying on my old blog: "I'm so tired, I could eat a bed!"

2. Today, as I walked down the empty street to my quaint apartment, innocently strolling through my relatively quiet Polish neighborhood in Brooklyn, not a person in sight, I let my guard down and picked my ear. Before my finger could maneuver its way past the drum into the semi-circular canals (the root of all wax, imho), I realized my error, panicked, and aborted the mission prematurely. "Little Poland, we have a problem!" I looked at the three-story vinyl-sided would-be brownstone apartment faces lined neatly up and down the block. Was it paranoia? No. The evidence was thousands of beady little prying eyes peering out, squinting at me, their invisible mouths laughing and jeering and shouting obscenities at me for behaving as if privacy existed. For one glorious moment, I'd forgotton that no matter where you are in New York, no matter how late or how early or how during working hours it is, no matter how quiet and empty it may seem, there are thousands of hidden lurkers sneaking about, their faces sweating, eyes watching your every move, snickering, plotting, knowing every little thing about you. I couldn't see anybody as I picked my ear... BUT THEY COULD SEE ME.

3. Don't you hate it when you spend minutes, neigh hours, crafting your finest masterpiece? Every word is meticulously selected, every phrase so finely tuned that no other phrase could possibly do. It reads swiftly and swimmingly, yet is marked by depth and complexity, operating on tens, if not thousands of levels that only you could have so brilliantly devised. It's serious - yet funny; heart-breaking - yet uplifting. It is, in a word, perfect. But then the one person in a position to fully appreciate its genius, the only person who will ever see it, even... doesn't even like your flawless tour de force because it's a snide, mean-spirited email you sent them, mocking their religious beliefs, and tearing apart the short film they just directed. No one is going to worship your genius when you're using it to destroy them.

4. The kids in Manhattan are insufferable brats who grow up too fast. Never raise your kids in New Yawk.

Comments

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