How's that for an opener?
Some background: I moved to the West Village in 2001, from Chelsea, the little 'hood north of here. Now, in 2001 the neighborhood was already in full swing, and was considered officially not-cool anymore, because Jersey had discovered it. (A note for you out-of-towners: When your favorite little bar or cozy hangout or secret brunch place gets discovered and written up in New York Magazine or TimeOut New York, and all of New Jersey descends upon it, it's pretty much over.)
Over the last 6 years the neighborhood has really gone downhill, which is unfortunate. It used to be so quiet and quaint: you saw the neighborhood regulars walking their dogs, people seemed normal and slightly off-the-grid, famous people walked around unnoticed and undiscovered, and there was a charm to the still-cobblestoned streets west of Greenwich Street. So what happened? Carrie Bradshaw happened. Invitro fertilization happened. Nasty, bitchy, icy women with rich husbands happened... and told their friends about the wonderfully quiet and child-friendly neighborhood they had just moved to, and then more invitro babies happened (how they can all be 30 and sterile is beyond me, but that's a subject for another post; I think I have the skinny on that one). Now the 'hood has been overtaken by the Stroller Armada. The cute little bookstores and kitschy antique shops have been replaced by -- and I'm not kidding here -- a maternity clothing store, a children's haircut salon, and a children's pharmacy. Although I wonder how well the kiddie pharm is doing, because not too long ago they put up a sign in the window saying "We have adult medications as well!" It was written with such glee, and tried so hard to not sound desperate. Still, it made me want to walk in there at a high-traffic moment and ask them if they carried medicine for full-blown AIDS, then cough really hard and throw up on the floor and maybe start bleeding. Because I miss the little sandwich shop that used to be there, and those kids really do need to learn a healthy amount of fear.
And then there's the Sex & The City bus tour.... ohhhh boy. 60 people at a time pay $37 apiece to ride around on a bus that points out all of the locations where their favorite scenes happened. And at the end, it parks near Perry Street and unloads. The entire bus empties out and walks people down the north side of "that block" of Perry Street, then one by one they cross the street and sit on the steps to Carrie Bradshaw's apartment (from the series) and take their picture. Then they file quietly over to Magnolia Bakery for a $2.50 cupcake. So listen up, ladies from Texas who take this tour, cuz I've got a tip for you: Magnolia isn't that swift, it's completely overrated. And if you actually stand on that line waiting to get in, you will look like a tourist. And the secret to their frosting is that they put Crisco in it.
So, as I was walking around today with my boyfriend, I was ranting on and on and on about how much I couldn't stand this neighborhood anymore, and he said, "Hey, why don't you write a blog about it?" And I said, "A blog??!? That's so stupid and self-indulgent. I love it, I'll start tonight."
So here I am, typing next to an open window where I can hear the traffic from the West Side Highway buzzing by. There's the occasional horn blowing, I can hear some chick fighting with her boyfriend (note to chick: just because you CAN fit into something doesn't mean you should wear it) and there's some chick at the corner puking, who looks like a 23-year-old from Wyckoff , and then laughing it off like it somehow made her more fabulous. She has on very high heels and I bet you a dollar she's going to trip any minute now. I wonder if she knows she looks like a whore.
I feel like New York City is officially over. And I'm really looking forward to my lease expiring on April 1st.
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