I love New York, but only as a friend
I love New York. In a strange unrequited kind of way. Like
an old friend, who at times doesn’t recognise me, or perhaps doesn’t want to
recognise me. But I still love the Big Apple and it appears I am not alone. A
little under 100,000 tourists arrive each and every day, that is 35 million a
year. So when people try to make out that they like to visit the non-tourist
spots of New York, it’s about as believable as someone telling you they like
the subway for the views.
But why does the city hold such appeal? Is it the allure, the entertainment, the independence, the
opportunity or the underbelly? I have no idea, but I can tell you three reasons
why I love it (but only as a friend of course)

Whether it’s eavesdropping like a linguistic pervert or
chuckling over the unnecssary euphemisms (facial bars for soap and rectal wipes
for you know what), I love the language that New York offers.
But I also love the food. No I am not going to mention any
of the boring hackneyed commentary about how the portion sizes are enough to
feed a small African village, or whether the sugar and salt content is enough
to kill a Shetland pony, as eating in New York is not about the destination
(hospital or otherwise), but the culinary (and perhaps cardiological) journey.
Where else can you dine in Chinatown while looking at Little Italy (said ten
times quickly to improve your yodelling skills); have a hot dog on the street
for lunch (or at a faux French restaurant called La Luncheonette) followed by
an 8 course meal in the sky. Where else can you get ‘cawfee’ that when it is
good, it is very very good, but when it is bad, it is not only horrid, but you
wonder if they got a cheap deal on Luwak coffee minus the beans.
However I also love the tackiness. I love the bright lights.
I love the cheapened experience of taking something beautiful and selling it
for $2.95 as a souvenir key ring. I love the fake Academy awards you can buy
for “World’s greatest lover”. I’m someone who doesn’t want an off the beaten
track undiscovered highlights tour, I want to line up with the rest of the
hordes of people and look with the millions of others at the pure-unadulterated
tawdriness and tastelessness of it all.

Is it the anonymity, where you can be anybody, somebody and
nobody all in the one day? Is it the opportunity of finding your way among “the
pursued, the pursuing, the busy and tired”? Is it the freedom apparently
epitomised by Mrs S. Liberty? Or is it because in a Gatsby-ish kind of way,
there is some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, an extraordinary
gift of hope, a romantic readiness that is not found in any other city.
I don’t know, but I do love New York, and whether it ever
becomes something more, it is at this stage, only as a friend.
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