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Faux Outrage

Literally the most important blog in the universe since 2010.

“An entire weekend in NYC and you wrote about tomatoes and eggs?” -Cara B.

New York Skyline

Now that I’ve had a 24 hour incubation period to digest (eh hem) my weekend in the land of bitter cold and bitterer temperaments, I feel more able to convey the lessons I learned in three short days.

When it comes to the citizenry of New York City, the question is often (never?) asked, “Does New York turn people into ‘New Yorkers’ or do folks who are inherently ‘New York’ flock to the city?”  There are those who will scoff, scowl, and dismissively point out that that this is like asking, “Who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp?” (Who was that man?)

While I cannot tell you who put the bomp there, I am here to declare with great confidence (Note: If the crossword puzzle clue is “Declare with great confidence,” the answer is probably “AVER”) that New York has a profound influence on a relatively untarnished (my parents are from Long Island) objective third party (me).

Take the follow examples of how I began to turn into a New Yorker, right before the eyes of thousands of people who would not get out of my way.

Preemptively Yelled At Cabbie For Doing Something That He Was About To Do (And Then Did!)

New York is the only place where I began to maliciously assume that people would perform horrible, unthinkable acts — and then they would follow through with the performance.  On Saturday, after leaving the Apple/Hipster store on Broadway, Alex M. and I were preparing to cross the street.  As the perpendicular light changes from green to yellow, a cabbie lays into his horn a block and a half away.

“This [WORD NOT USED IN POLITE COMPANY] is preparing to run this red light!  What the [AFOREMENTIONED WORD]!”

(CAB FLIES THROUGH THE STALE RED LIGHT AS WE STARE AT PEDESTRIAN SIGN FLASHING “WALK”)

“Seriously, what the [GEORGE CARLIN]!”

Failed To Understand The Rural Lifestyle

I shot a cow.

I was not supposed to shoot a cow, but I shot a cow. I shot a cow and then I shot another cow and then I shot a third cow.  Each time it was the wrong thing to do.

You should never shoot a cow.

New Yorkers are not known for their ability to handle firearms, or the woods, or hunting, or any combination thereof.  That was an enormous problem for me when I was introduced to the dollar-erasing experience known to connoisseurs as Buck Hunter.   Additionally, New Yorkers like to use phrases like “connoisseur” even when discussing digital deer destruction.

Anyway, how was I supposed to know that shooting a cow instead of the elk or moose or giraffe or whatever would effectively end my hunting experience?  And what were a bunch of cows doing hanging out with wild animals like that?  They should be sitting on plates literally all across the country.

Saw Something Unspeakable In Central Park And Did Not Care

Use your imagination.

Actually, don’t.

Refused To Go To Brooklyn

Today, I would like to coin a saying:  “The longer you’ve lived in Manhattan, the longer you’ve been in Manhattan.”

It seems that the more time a person spends living in Manhattan, the more likely it is that he/she hasn’t been beyond the Manhattan boundaries for quite some time.  In most cities, the longer you are a resident, the larger the footprint becomes that you consider a part of your life/existence.  Not so with New York it seems.

And the first step is refusing to go to Brooklyn.

Check!

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