czsz
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Since Boston's inferiority complex toward New York is a frequent discussion topic here, I thought I'd use this column to funnel discussion into its own topic:
A new twist on a tale of two cities
By Alex Beam | July 24, 2007
NEW YORK -- God knows I have written my share of set-piece, New York-bashing columns over the years. I've made fun of the city's ad campaigns, of its brief but ridiculous claim to have become a "polite" city, and I wrote a parody of the local newspaper's fill-in-the-blank contest, "You Know You're a New Yorker When. . ."
You know you're a New Yorker when you can successfully repress the fact that your mayor is from Medford and your most famous senator is from Chicago.
But now there is a problem. My wife works here. Yes, that's a good pick up line in Boston, until I get to the part about us still being married. She got a nice apartment. But I still live in Massachusetts, raising the next generation. So I am a curious miscegenation still looking for a name, a Bostonyorker, pronounced Boss-stony-yorker.
It's been quite a transformation. When I exit the subway station here, I know which direction is uptown. I'm not sure how, maybe they implanted a chip in my shoulder. I know The New York Times crossword does not appear in section B down here -- that's the Metro section. I already had the rudeness and "in your face" thing down. I didn't have to attend the reverse charm school required of all Gothamites.
I've finally stopped buying $6 boxes of Smart Start at convenience stores, and have discovered the Fairway supermarket over on 126th, underneath the Henry Hudson Parkway. I bet there are Costco stores over in New Jersey, wherever that is. The next thing you know I'll start complaining about bagels in Boston, and gassing on about how Rubin's in Brookline isn't "real" deli.
I am even learning the parking quadrille. When visiting, I know I have to leave the apartment right after lunch to move the car from the Monday-Thursday side of the street to the Tuesday-Friday side. It's the summer, and the parking is easy. In the fall, I may go back to taking the bus.
Don't get me started about "Law & Order." The TV show routinely closes off parking for several blocks, and puts up cardboard signs, generally hidden behind trees or lampposts, "informing" you of the restrictions. They ticketed me on a visit last year, and I wrote a groveling letter to the New York cops, explaining 1) I was an idiot, 2) I was from Boston (redundant), and 3) I loved the show and really missed Jerry Orbach. The ticket went away. But that was before my wife moved here. Now what can I say?
I do try to hold up our side. In May, some friends invited me to get up at 5 a.m. for what they called "the best bird-watching in America" -- warbler season in Central Park. "What about Mount Auburn Cemetery?," I quickly countered. My hosts guffawed. "What's that, five acres?" Well no, more like 175, but it is indeed a postage stamp compared to Central Park. And frankly, New York may have been the best bird-watching in the country. We saw the blackpoll, the Blackburnian, and the parula. These little fellas may make it to Mount Auburn, or they might just fly right on to Montreal. But they are regulars in Central Park.
It is true that New Yorkers hold themselves above us, when they bother to think about us at all. Dan Shaughnessy noticed that Tom Brady sporting a New York Yankees cap, a la Hillary Clinton, made front-page news in Boston. Nary a peep in New York. Perhaps you saw the "Top Ten Unknown Facts About Derek Jeter," which aired on the David Letterman show. Facing the camera, the Yankees shortstop, pitchman, and deity-at-large, said, "When Red Sox fans shout, 'Yankees [expletive],' it really hurts my feelings." But you know what? He was kidding. He couldn't care less.
In the opening pages of Anthony Burgess's novel "Napoleon Symphony," he writes that his French wife could never understand why the British would name a huge, central railroad station after a military defeat, i.e. Waterloo. And that is one thing I still can't understand in New York. Yankee victories are hailed as, well, victories, and Red Sox defeats are dismissed as just deserts .
It's an upside-down world, and it's going to take some getting used to.
A new twist on a tale of two cities
By Alex Beam | July 24, 2007
NEW YORK -- God knows I have written my share of set-piece, New York-bashing columns over the years. I've made fun of the city's ad campaigns, of its brief but ridiculous claim to have become a "polite" city, and I wrote a parody of the local newspaper's fill-in-the-blank contest, "You Know You're a New Yorker When. . ."
You know you're a New Yorker when you can successfully repress the fact that your mayor is from Medford and your most famous senator is from Chicago.
But now there is a problem. My wife works here. Yes, that's a good pick up line in Boston, until I get to the part about us still being married. She got a nice apartment. But I still live in Massachusetts, raising the next generation. So I am a curious miscegenation still looking for a name, a Bostonyorker, pronounced Boss-stony-yorker.
It's been quite a transformation. When I exit the subway station here, I know which direction is uptown. I'm not sure how, maybe they implanted a chip in my shoulder. I know The New York Times crossword does not appear in section B down here -- that's the Metro section. I already had the rudeness and "in your face" thing down. I didn't have to attend the reverse charm school required of all Gothamites.
I've finally stopped buying $6 boxes of Smart Start at convenience stores, and have discovered the Fairway supermarket over on 126th, underneath the Henry Hudson Parkway. I bet there are Costco stores over in New Jersey, wherever that is. The next thing you know I'll start complaining about bagels in Boston, and gassing on about how Rubin's in Brookline isn't "real" deli.
I am even learning the parking quadrille. When visiting, I know I have to leave the apartment right after lunch to move the car from the Monday-Thursday side of the street to the Tuesday-Friday side. It's the summer, and the parking is easy. In the fall, I may go back to taking the bus.
Don't get me started about "Law & Order." The TV show routinely closes off parking for several blocks, and puts up cardboard signs, generally hidden behind trees or lampposts, "informing" you of the restrictions. They ticketed me on a visit last year, and I wrote a groveling letter to the New York cops, explaining 1) I was an idiot, 2) I was from Boston (redundant), and 3) I loved the show and really missed Jerry Orbach. The ticket went away. But that was before my wife moved here. Now what can I say?
I do try to hold up our side. In May, some friends invited me to get up at 5 a.m. for what they called "the best bird-watching in America" -- warbler season in Central Park. "What about Mount Auburn Cemetery?," I quickly countered. My hosts guffawed. "What's that, five acres?" Well no, more like 175, but it is indeed a postage stamp compared to Central Park. And frankly, New York may have been the best bird-watching in the country. We saw the blackpoll, the Blackburnian, and the parula. These little fellas may make it to Mount Auburn, or they might just fly right on to Montreal. But they are regulars in Central Park.
It is true that New Yorkers hold themselves above us, when they bother to think about us at all. Dan Shaughnessy noticed that Tom Brady sporting a New York Yankees cap, a la Hillary Clinton, made front-page news in Boston. Nary a peep in New York. Perhaps you saw the "Top Ten Unknown Facts About Derek Jeter," which aired on the David Letterman show. Facing the camera, the Yankees shortstop, pitchman, and deity-at-large, said, "When Red Sox fans shout, 'Yankees [expletive],' it really hurts my feelings." But you know what? He was kidding. He couldn't care less.
In the opening pages of Anthony Burgess's novel "Napoleon Symphony," he writes that his French wife could never understand why the British would name a huge, central railroad station after a military defeat, i.e. Waterloo. And that is one thing I still can't understand in New York. Yankee victories are hailed as, well, victories, and Red Sox defeats are dismissed as just deserts .
It's an upside-down world, and it's going to take some getting used to.