New York City, NY
5
Well, what can one say about NYC? I always used to proclaim to anyone paying attention to me, "It has the best of everything, and the worst of everything." From the time I was a tot, my parents used to bring me there regularly, and I always thought of it as the center of the universe (my family, adopted and biological, originated in Yorkville, the Bronx, and Brooklyn). As I got older, that opinion didn't change. As a kid, we made school "field trips" to the U.N., off-Broadway shows, and Radio City Music Hall. As teenagers, we'd hang around Times Square, eating Tad's Steaks (cheap, cheap, cheap), watching grade-Z horror movies in the crumbling theatres surrounded by sleeping winos and hustlers and pimps, making fun of the old perverts trying to score with the transvestite hookers (we once cried with laughter at 2 old ladies who stood in front of one of the dirty books stores that proliferated in the area, shaking their Bibles at the store, crying out, "Out, Spririts of Iniquity; out, proclaims our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!", or scoring cheap bootlegged Kung-Fu and horror videos, and even cheaper booze and drugs. As I got older, I began hanging out in the Village, patronizing the truly independent movie theatres, or book stores like See/Hear, the Strand (I once saw Allan Ginsberg buying books there), or St. Mark's Bookstore. I bought movie posters and stills at Jerry Ohlinger's or records at Bleeker Bob's or videos at Kim's. I attended concerts at Madison Square Garden, the Palladium, or the Ritz. I drank at bars in the Bowery, or at my favorite hang-out, Ryan's Irish Pub in the East Village, where the young Irish barmaids were actually good-natured enough to let me leave thinking I had made a "positive impression" upon them. I ate Ukranian food on 14th Street, Thai food on 23rd Street that was so fiery it raised blisters on the soft portion of my upper mouth, got physically sick from bad Indian food consumed at the East Side's "Little India" section, or reverently touched some of the bullets holes that had been left in the walls after the underworld assassination of "Crazy Joey" Gallo at Umberto's on Mulberry Street. I carved up a 5-inch thick steak at Sparks, where Big Paul Castellano was shot down by gunmen working for John Gotti, and had a rat nearly as large as Big Paul brush by my legs as I ate cheap pizza in midtown. I took dates to the Hayden Planetarium, the Museum of Natural History, or the Museum of Modern Art (maybe I'd have been better off if I had taken them to Umberto's downtown). I tried Vietnamese food in Chinatown, attended a memorial service for William Kunstler at St. John the Divine, played pool on the Lower East Side. In recent years, NYC has become a different place and I haven't been there lately. Although Herr Giuliani likes to claim credit for the transformation of Times Square, it was actually David Dinkins and Ed Koch who started the process that made it as innocuous as Des Moines, Iowa. Most of the independent book stores, unable to afford astronomically high rents, have been bought out by Borders and/or Barnes and Noble. Luchow's is long gone, Virgin Records is going out of business, if you want porno you have to access the internet, Umberto's has moved to an entirely new location where they don't have the bullet holes or the ambiance, and the veal parmigiana at Luna's has gone steadily down hill. Hell's Kitchen has become Clinton. Still, even though I haven't been there in several years, NYC will always be the place that has the best of everything and the worst of everything. At least for me it will.