Someone who reads my blog once asked, “Isn’t your wife insulted by insinuation that your life is unbearable?” The whole idea of being unbearably banished is an attempted witticism. I’m not banished at all, really. I left the Lower East Side of Manhattan of my own free volition.
All sorts of biological urges kicked in when I had my daughter, the most primal being protection and self-preservation. Even though by the time Daughter #1 came along my street was no longer the Walmart of the heroin trade in NYC and the bum who would defecate in my apartment building vestibule every morning moved on, Alphabet City was still no place to raise a little girl. If I could have afforded a nice place on the Upper West Side or the Upper East Side near Central Park I would have put up a fight to stay in the city. But lacking the financial wherewithal to provide my family with that type of lifestyle, I set sail for safer harbors, far, far away, in the enchanted land of New Jersey.
How safe is it where we live? It’s so safe that you can go out on a Sunday morning to walk the dog and stumble across a BMW Z4…
…and the owner feels completely at ease leaving both windows rolled down and the keys in the ignition.
I thought that, perhaps, they had just run in the house for a second but I came around the block about ten minutes later and it was still there. Back on Avenue B, that car wouldn’t have lasted ten seconds, much less ten minutes. Is it safe? Yes. Very.
Strolling through Times Square on my way to work this morning I read the following weather report on the news zipper:
Delightful? I don’t recall New York ever being described as being delightful. I’ve read some bad poetry about how dark the city can be and the tourist guides paint a pretty picture. Both are accurate, in their own myopic way. The truth, as always, resides somewhere in between. But I cannot ever recall anyone saying New York is delightful. It is! +10 points to whoever posted that.