I'm staying in Hell's Kitchen. Or Midtown West? I am sure you can figure out which description I like better. Surely, there are wonderful things to be said about various other parts of New York City, from the Village to Brooklyn to whatever the hell is Alphabet City. But I love this part of town, because, in this weird way, it reminds me of LA. Not LA, per se, but like the seedy underbelly-ness of the east-end of Sunset. Yes, yes, I know it used to be much filthier here, I wandered through it then, but it has retained some of its stickiness. The random strip clubs linger, offering totally dated photographs of girls who have long since disappeared, and who knows what they're doing in the back rooms, except for sure it's illegal.
Every few years, every few months, I say, oh, I am tired of writing about X! Whatever X happens to be. Usually something filthy. Then, a month will pass, maybe more, maybe a few years. Then, there I am, right back at it again. When I was stuck waiting for a flight in DC, at one point, I took out my laptop and fiddled some with my novel. Sitting in the middle of all those people made me realize how filthy it is. I suppose I usually then wonder: What's wrong with me? But, hey, maybe it's in my DNA. Or something, somewhere deeper.
In a way, that's what I like best about NYC, what I wasn't sure I liked about it at all in the first place: it's freakin' filthy. I grew up in California, where "new" is mid-century modern, and the sky is made of gold, and we all drive fuel-efficient unicorns. By comparison, Jesus Christ, New York is a fucking dump. The stench of urine, and sidewalks no power washer could ever clean, and even the snow is a mess of dirt, and grime, and slip. But I like that. That feels about right.
In any case, I suppose this is a dress rehearsal for moving here soon. That is what I want for 2010. Won't I be happy then? We would like to think.