The simple and obvious purpose of a vacation is to get away from where you are. I know that sounds idiotic, but hell, that’s what they’re there for. A vacation lets you get up and out of that stinky little rut of morning coffee, evening news and mind numbing binge drinking that you call your pathetic life. It lets you get a fresh perspective, lets you look at your surroundings with a more objective eye. There is, however, a fine line to vacations. Spend too much time away and you’re liable to get homesick, and yearn for that closet you call an apartment, mark up your slow death of lead poisoning from old pipes to life experience or even worse, buy a place and start cranking out babies like a mormon with iced up testicles.
As I wrote last week, I had the ever so fortunate chance to get away from New York for four days to the living embodiment of its antithesis, Los Angeles. Four days was the perfect amount of time, I’ve come back rejuvenated and able to see things that I’m sure most of you other urban dwellers have no doubt begun to overlook. Three things actually, the city is dirty and its inhabitants are exceedingly lazy and ugly.
Harsh criticism, but I’ve long been a proponent of the saying, “Don’t dish it out if you can’t serve yourself some and enjoy that shit, because humble pie is a dish best served cold.” I don’t think it’s an actual saying, but I trademarked it yesterday just to be safe.
First off, I want to be absolutely clear that when I use the word, “dirty” I don’t mean in the really cool way, like Times Square used to be. With street smart trannie hookers that could teach you to make fun of someone’s penis in over eight languages. No, I mean dirty like filth, like the floor of my apartment after a party. New York is that kind of dirty.
Seriously, take a look around when you leave your office, home or bar and just look at this place. It’s a freakin’ pig sty. You want to know why buildings are made out of black steel and stone? Not because as we all know black is the coolest color ever invented, because it can collect dirt that way. Don’t believe me? Find a white building somewhere in this city. You won’t, they’ve all been covered in this film like coating of dust, sweat and soot. I’m actually starting to believe that black was really just the recently adopted cool-ass color of New York because its residents wanted to be able to lean against the bus stop without looking like they were the toilet paper used to wipe a super dusty giant guy’s butt crease.
So New Yorkers only wear black because they don’t want to get dirty, which ties into my next point: New Yorkers are fucking lazy, man. I was riding the subway the other day, around lunch and got a great example of this.
If I can digress for a second, let me just say that riding the subway in the middle of the day is kind of like being an all-star pro-baseball player who’s been busted down to AAA league because he’s got a coke problem. You’ve been to the show a thousand times (rush hour clown car subway rides), and you know you can do this with your eyes closed, so you just wing it. I mean, you can actually sit down, fer chrissakes, when’s the last time you had a seat on the subway on a weekday during rush hour? So it’s inevitable that your subway etiquette flies out the window.
So here I was, sitting down, enjoying a liesurely subbterranean jaunt through the bowels of midtown when I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I looked around, didn’t see anything, and went back to listening to my newly acquired Shalamar song selection. A few seconds later I saw something again and realized what it was, a water bottle.
It was half filled and just rolling around the car, like a blindfolded eight year old looking for the pinata, but who’s parents had left him in the yard alone as a cruel practical joke. What’s worse is that it had begun to leak, leaving tiny rivulets of, *gasp* bottled water, throughout the car. It would bounce into the plate under my seat and then roll haphazardly over to another traveler, where it would just hit someone’s foot and go about its merry if not Helen Keller-ish way.
This went on for about eight stops.
That’s right, no one picked it up, they would just watch the bottle move about the car and some would even pick up their feet when it came rolling at them, so as not to get drenched by the eye dropper-full of water that might hit their wingtips. Even worse, when people would come into the car, they’d step around the tiny streaks of liquid because, that’s right, they just assumed it was urine. What kind of city do we live in where when you see errant fluid on the ground you just assume it’s piss?
I’m not going to lie and say that picked up the bottle, because well, honestly, at the time I just assumed that the water inside the bottle was urine.
Now, I feel like I ought to clarify my final point. Not all New Yorkers are ugly, just the guys. I came to an awesome conclusion after my trip to LA. Which is, somehow, New York got all the hot chicks and LA got all the studs. That’s right, you heard me. New York is teeming with gorgeous women and these hideous mongoloids that we try to pass off as men. Please also bear in mind that I’m talking about beauty in the entire sense of the word, not just clasical Greek sculpture tiny-dicked beauty.
* New York has stock brokers, middle managers, trustafarian hipsters and that weird ass goth/punk hybrid that we all love to laugh at.
* LA has beach hunks, skater boys and more persian club kings than you can shake a stick at.
* New York has got more models, skin baring college girls and low rider jean wearing hotties per capita than any where in the world.
* LA: Valley girls, pink outfits and snotty celebrity fuckers.
I don’t have to go into further detail do I? If there were some way to fold space and time and merge New York with Los Angeles, putting all the LA guys and NYC girls on one side and the other stuff in Brooklyn, it would simultaneously result in the biggest freaky orgy on the island and the world’s worst season of the Real World in the borough.
I’m actually a little remiss writing this, because a rapid influx of tanned and bleached surfer dudes would virtually ruin this hilariously imbalanced dating scheme we’ve got here in the city, I would fear for my male friends who continually get tail way beyond their dating station.
So there you have it. I cooked it up, dished it out and set it on the table (pending trademark). New York needs a giant bath, in ammonia. It also needs to develop a mild case of OCD. But what it doesn’t need is cool Cali dudes, the city just wouldn’t be able to handle it.