have a good weekend, yee haw!

fuck you, olsen twats

eleven years ago, when i moved to 212, i always found myself in the west village. the first bar in which i got lit with my college friends was burrito loco, the same day marge and homer dropped me off. the first place i saw the freaky halloween and pride parades (and by freaky, i mean wonderful) was down here. fun shopping for christmas cards (hudson papers) and cool new condoms and lubes (condomania), both right off christopher street. i always thought it would be soooo cool to, maybe, someday, perhaps, live here.

fast forward not quite one month before that day in september that will live in history forever when i moved here for good. i had arrived. i was home.

and when that awful, awful day happened, i spent that entire day in the fountain at washington square park: it was widely reported it was a most temperate day, and everyone was out. people cried, people stayed silent, and people hit this home-base as they continued onward to other places downtown. it was like beirut down here, all of a mile or so from 'ground zero', in the weeks before the assholes hocking hats and t-shirts infested the area. no deliveries - period - for about a week. no traffic other than screeching ambulances and fire-trucks and press going up and down the west side highway and sixth avenue. beirut for a week, but it's home.

during the blackout, i had the most wonderful walk home with my former coworker, the igloo dweller. even hit stonewall where the boys were drinking up a storm and smoking cigarettes (for lightening won't strike twice.) the day after the black out, i went running on my usual path and ran into a director from work on his bike: though i couldn't call, i took it that work was closed.

sunning in the little grassy knoll by the big-dog's dog run is a favorite past-time.

where does one buy little grover plush stuffies for knocked-up coworkers? s. p. gift on carmine, of course.

don't start me on restaurants or bars. i fucking f-u-c-k-i-n-g love this hood. and like the stubborn dutchman is quoted (who?): 'i was here before you and i'll be here after you leave.' exactly.

and then it happened. martha and calvin bought whole floors in a new high-rise complex (three buildings.) the fucking olsens moved in the venerable orgasm of a building up. the. street. when monica pulled the cigar out, she moved in building with parking, a gym, and a supermarket. don't want to go out into the big, scary city unless one has to, right, monica? i understand. wait, no i don't. (thankfully, she pissed off.) and let me tell you about gwenith's brownstone. (i even stole her paper, once, to get her name in print for my former dickhead boss when we went out for beers at the local lesbian bar, but it was in her assistant's name.)

good news for property values, no? no. (this list is repetitive, i know.) taco nazi fresco tortillas? closed. mirchi? closed. lemongrass grill? closed. rite-aid? closed. neighborhood gap? closed. hudson papers? closed. strawberry fields? closed. blind tiger ale house? closed. don't panic? closed. the little antique place on christopher? closed. the jewelry shop on bleecker? closed. grace kim's laundromat? closed. the chick inn? closed. polka dot cakes? closed. turquacino? closed. cute coffee-shop on the corner of west fourth and sixth? closed. and as of this week, the straws that broke my back: details? closing. the christopher street candle-shop? closing. i could cry, i really could. and quite honestly, i'm abridging this list. there are many more, but you get the point.

what's moved in for the olsens and the kleins and the stewarts and the paltrows? well, we've got not one, not two, but three ralph laurens. already have one banana republic that's been here forever, and a second is coming on the corner of the next block. gucci is on the list, per the times. frou frou robert marc opticians is here. cynthia rowley, too. oh and let me not forget the LVMH whore of the month: fresh. the new abercrombie 30+ line, ruhle, is here, too. yeah, let big business pump money into exorbitant rents that are doing nothing more than maintaining a presence whilst losing money in places where no one else could possibly afford. i hope you'll excuse me if i don't go to these housewarming parties. not that a neighborhood local would be welcome in his own neighborhood: catch the irony?

and as of last month, my building was sold and bought. i won't lie: if they buy me out so they can demo and put up a monstrosity, i'd probably go. hell, why should i be the only notforprofit non-whore in 10014? but don't think for a second that i won't sell my ass in the meatpacking district during the night to afford the mortgage if this building goes co-op and my apartment is offered to me at an insiders rate. well, who am i kidding: when the celebs moved in, they cleaned the meatpacking district out to make room for diane von furstenberg and jeffrey.