in Manhattan.  True story.

Last weekend in New York I spent a lot of timing hailing cabs – either my destination was too far or too short of a distance which meant I stood on the street corner looking bewildered and wondering how taking me 10 blocks was too much of an inconvenience for someone who makes a living by, um, taking people places. After being turned away from 6 cabs on the corner of Broadway and 8th, I cried, and I don’t know this next cabbie took pity on me or he thought maybe I was paying in cash, but thankfully (finally) I was able to get to the airport and go home. On the ride to LGA I was thinking, why the fuck do people think New York is really all that? I haven’t a freaking clue!

New York isn’t the Big Apple, it’s the Big Ego.

crabapples by cobaltfish

I haven’t been to a bar/restaurant/site in NYC that doesn’t have an equilivant in just about every other big city. New York isn’t special, New York is BIG and I think people assume these magical things about a place they couldn’t possible see every corner of in two lifetimes. I think because of it’s size there is this general bloated-self image lingering in the air. eh, no thanks.

I’m sure I’ll be back to New York and I’m sure I’ll have many good times there (as you can have anywhere) but I’m not convinced I’ll ever understand the appeal to living there.