The Bronx is up and the Battery’s down, and Jennie wore her Red Sox hat all over the town.
I spent last weekend in New York. The intention wasn’t to lord it over Yankees fans, I swear. That was just a happy accident. The real purpose of my visit was to hang out with my good friend Kate Smyres on the occasion of the thirty-third anniversary of her birth. As she pointed out, next year, if she survives, she’ll have beaten Jesus.
I always forget how awesome New York is. Let’s start with the fact that no one was mean to me for wearing a Red Sox hat. I got a few dirty looks, maybe, but mostly people were either indifferent or elated. Apparently, there are a number of refugees from the Nation hiding out in NYC. And really, no one gives a crap what you do in that city. It’s very liberating. It made me forget about my elbows and knees and stop twitching for awhile, as if the energy of the city had absorbed all my nervous tics and siphoned them away.
Also: you gotta love a city where everyone is a stinking lush. Jeebus H. Christmas, I felt like a teetotaler. I got off the bus at the Lucky Star Bus Terminal and Fruit Stand at around 5:30 on Friday night and went to drop my stuff off at Smyres’ apartment in Park Slope, and then we immediately went out and started drinking and didn’t stop until I got back on the bus Monday morning. At brunch on Sunday, I expressed to my friend Matthew, a fellow Masshole now living in Williamsburg, that I thought my liver might fall out and go seek a more congenial host and he said, “Ah. Well. Welcome to New York.”