No Love For New York
I’m re-reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, which is set in New York. A couple of days ago, I read Beth’s entry on her time spent in New York City. And on Thursday this got me thinking that I don’t particularly share the fascination that many people have with New York. I don’t think I’ve ever imagined ending up there, except perhaps in some fleeting childhood dream. I certainly have no ambitions to end up there now. And, even though it’s within a few hours drive of here, I’ve only ever been there once. And I wasn’t all that impressed.
For whatever reason, Boston has always intrigued me more. If I was going to end up in any city, which I doubt will ever happen, it would probably be Boston. New York, it doesn’t do anything for me. Perhaps it’s because the city is so overexposed. Perhaps it’s because New Yorkers, in general, seem so self-absorbed to me. I don’t know. I certainly don’t like the way in which New York is portrayed to be the center of the universe. I hated the way in which New York was portrayed to be the only place truly affected by the September 11 terrorist attacks, as if nobody died in Washington or in the fields of Pennsylvania. And, lastly, stupidly, as an avid reader of comic books from an early age, I have always wondered why nearly every superhero story is set in Manhattan. Is there no crime anywhere else in the universe?
Blah, blah, blah. I had a point, and now it’s gone.
I don’t like New York, and that’s the end of it.