I love Central Park.
Now, I'm definitely not New York's biggest fan, but if I have to like it for that nice big spot of green it's got in the middle of Manhattan, then I guess I have to say I like it. It's the most civilized part of the city I've found so far.
Maybe that's what's been grating at me. I don't find New York very civilized. It's like that nightmare where you're stuck in Coquitlam Centre during Christmas-shopping season, everything looks the same and people keep telling you to buy things in order to keep you from escaping. Does Tiffany & Co. really need 5 stories to display its jewelry? Does Chloe need 3 separate boutiques along Fifth Avenue? What's the difference between Louis Vuitton and Fendi, anyway? Where are all the non-bank businesses in midtown? Who would actually pay $20 to travel 10 minutes from the Upper East Side to the Village, where I live? And so on.
So Central Park is uber-paved, rather bustling, and has lots of little fences to either protect the grass or the American Elms (which are apparently a lot less hardy than their European counterparts). I got to see toucan fly for the first time (flew away from its owner when splashed a bit with a hose), and what I call the "Angels in America" fountain. It was also the first decently-sized splash of green I've seen in almost a month, and the first hour when I didn't feel like somebody somewhere was demanding something of me.
'Twas a beautiful contrast with the morning; the roomie got very depressed over not being able to go to the U.S. Open because of undelivered tickets -- I was upset too, because she made me spend an hour helping her settle on an appropriate outfit the night before -- so I indulged her in the only way I appropriately could. We went to Bloomingdale's. And so the cog of consumerism spins and spins.
Interestingly enough, the little camp-out party we've been watching take place on the astro-turfed apartment roof adjacent to us was mentioned in the NYTimes today. The owner is apparently a paralegal and "professional agitator" who was boarding unprepared teenage protestors from Texas. They really were unprepared, too -- their tarp tent didn't even stay up when it started raining on Tuesday. Turns out the kids for 18 and 19, and most of the people on the roof didn't even know each other before travelling to NY for the express purpose of telling George W. Bush how much they don't like him. If that's not national spirit, I don't know what is.
Now, I'm definitely not New York's biggest fan, but if I have to like it for that nice big spot of green it's got in the middle of Manhattan, then I guess I have to say I like it. It's the most civilized part of the city I've found so far.
Maybe that's what's been grating at me. I don't find New York very civilized. It's like that nightmare where you're stuck in Coquitlam Centre during Christmas-shopping season, everything looks the same and people keep telling you to buy things in order to keep you from escaping. Does Tiffany & Co. really need 5 stories to display its jewelry? Does Chloe need 3 separate boutiques along Fifth Avenue? What's the difference between Louis Vuitton and Fendi, anyway? Where are all the non-bank businesses in midtown? Who would actually pay $20 to travel 10 minutes from the Upper East Side to the Village, where I live? And so on.
So Central Park is uber-paved, rather bustling, and has lots of little fences to either protect the grass or the American Elms (which are apparently a lot less hardy than their European counterparts). I got to see toucan fly for the first time (flew away from its owner when splashed a bit with a hose), and what I call the "Angels in America" fountain. It was also the first decently-sized splash of green I've seen in almost a month, and the first hour when I didn't feel like somebody somewhere was demanding something of me.
'Twas a beautiful contrast with the morning; the roomie got very depressed over not being able to go to the U.S. Open because of undelivered tickets -- I was upset too, because she made me spend an hour helping her settle on an appropriate outfit the night before -- so I indulged her in the only way I appropriately could. We went to Bloomingdale's. And so the cog of consumerism spins and spins.
Interestingly enough, the little camp-out party we've been watching take place on the astro-turfed apartment roof adjacent to us was mentioned in the NYTimes today. The owner is apparently a paralegal and "professional agitator" who was boarding unprepared teenage protestors from Texas. They really were unprepared, too -- their tarp tent didn't even stay up when it started raining on Tuesday. Turns out the kids for 18 and 19, and most of the people on the roof didn't even know each other before travelling to NY for the express purpose of telling George W. Bush how much they don't like him. If that's not national spirit, I don't know what is.
