Entry tags:
sundries
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I anthropomorphize everyhing, and nothing so much as New York City. And I hate watching people hurt her. Living in New York is like living in America's backstage story. My commute to work, my experience in the right sort of restaurants, my trips to museums and shopping -- it's all fucking filled with America's fanfiction and RPF. My mother worked at Tiffany. My father was an ad man. One of my best friends growing up was the daughter of a Broadway producer and we tap-danced in her house on the giant dimes from 42nd Street. It's hard to be a caretaker for so much dreaming. And it's hard to be the target of so much anger.
So that's what it means when people are cruel to my home. And that's what it means when people love it. And this is what I mean when I talk about being a finer thing. There's a precision in me that comes from living in and growing up in so strange a small kingdom. And it makes me very happy when others come here and choose it too. Because then we're all in a marvelous secret club, tiny and vast.
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Yeah, smog. Yeah, traffic. Blah blah blah, yackety schmackety. I can give you a laundry list of everything wrong with her.
But at the end of the day, I cannot help but love her, tack, tawdriness and all. Granted, it is terribly messy and complicated love, but love nonetheless, dammit.
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I first lived in New York from 1983 to 1990- Brooklyn, Manhattan, & Astoria, Queens. Moved back down home to Long Beach Island, NJ and the back to New York in 2005.
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I never step outside the door, stop short, and look around in wonder at Calgary, AB. but Vancouver could just knock me on the ass without even trying.