New York I Love You, Thanks for Bringing Me ‘Round

Anywhere can be considered the center of the earth.  Even the toilet you’re on right now. If you got up, lit a match—two matches—and started walking east or west it would take you equal time to get back to the porcelain throne you just abused. But the poop gobbler you just fed lunch to isn’t the center of the earth. New York is.

Why Mike?

I’m so glad you asked.

In NYC (which is short for New York City) the architecture has no overarching theme. Some buildings are so sleek you wanna rub your cheek against them, others so jagged you’d think a dyslexic seven year old designed them.  All types sodomize the sky more than scrape it.  Buildings influenced by Victorian era palaces, Greek pantheons, and Sith temples share a single block.  They’re indiscriminate paint blotches up close, but a masterpiece from afar.

The people. I love New Yorkers because nobody’s from New York: Everybody’s a guest so nobody’s a guest.  Hasidic Jews, rich hipsters, poor hipsters, savvy bankers, Italians in jumpsuits, the people are as much a hodgepodge as the architecture. Most great cities have militias of angry “locals” who gleefully disparage migrants like they’ve come to steal spots on the JV baseball team.

“Welcome to Austin, Don’t forget to Leave”

“Keep Portland weird”

“Native San Franciscans only”

New York, meanwhile, is a meritocracy.  They want the best players for their team because it will, simply, make the team better.

Due to the cost of living, to stay in NYC you must be really good at something, be willing to work hard at it, and be compensated accordingly. And because you worked so hard all week, you’ll want to let loose and party all weekend. And you’ll have money to spend which attracts the best clubs, the best bands, and the most unique bars.  And you’ll party until the sun tells you to go home, not a city curfew.

My friend and I were lounging on a flat rock beside a lagoon in Central Park when we saw a pudgy older man paddling a rowboat straight at us.  When he was within spitting distance I waved and said hello.

No response.

He violently fought the opaque slew until his boat crashed up against our modest rock.

“Get in.”

He didn’t say it in a bossy way, but a supremely confident one. Once in the boat he asked us to paddle for him, which we did. We ended up chauffeuring the man around the lagoon listening to his stories about 9/11, the army, medical troubles, and George Washington’s dog.

Very few people casually live in New York, most are chasing something. (I know this because I was there for over five nights) And you have to admire New Yorkers because they consciously put themselves in a tough situation by moving there, and many will wind up back in their hometown of Bumblefuck.  But like the man who asked two iPhone-glued assholes to paddle his boat, they’re at least willing to try.

After seeing the world’s best stand-up comics, awesome clubs, triumphant buildings, eating the best food and looking at the most beautiful women (from a safe distance), you leave NYC with the comforting realization that right now you truly are not shit, which means you can be anything.

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