Ed note: From time to time, I let other smart chicks (and Roommate Jim) chime in about life in the Big NYC. Be nice to them.
This is a question I ask myself all the time. In fact, I’m probably unnaturally obsessed with trying to figure out a way to shake the golden handcuffs of big city life and move back to my native N.C., where I will get a huge, sloppy mutt to run with and grow an organic vegetable garden in my backyard.
Not that I did any of that when I actually lived in Raleigh, but hey, I’m more motivated now, right?
My friend A. says we live in NYC because we’re all useless people, incapable of contributing anything to the greater good of society. And also completely ineffectual in procuring and cooking food, washing clothes or doing any other matter of menial tasks at which the rest of America seems to excel. See Wal-Mart, HGTV and Rachael Ray.
The only answer: drinking. It’s so much easier to do here. Sitting in a dingy dive bar on the Lower East Side and swilling overpriced pitchers of Bud Light on a Thursday is something you can do on the spur of the moment with impunity in NYC. There’s no need for a sober driver–there’s the subway or a cab. You don’t have to worry about how you’re going to get to work in the morning, since the train will always be right where you left it, not in a bar parking lot across town. There are dive bars, roof-top bars, beer gardens, music halls, lounges and clubs. The novelty of getting drunk and talking about the lack of real men in NYC (Ed note: I cannot believe we missed our chance for Dierks Bentley! Not to mention web-hosting, flannel-shirt guy) never wears off since the scenery is constantly changing. Sure instead of $2 PBRs, you pay $5 for Brooklyn Lager, but you can do it any night of the week without consequences.
Organic garden and SUV be damned.