Fourth of July! The day when New York reminds America that while America is 232 today, New York is about six thousand years older. At least, that’s what it looks like in my subway station. Also, those rumors about alligators in the subway: totally crap. The dinosaurs would devour them, like that.
But yes. It’s turkey day! America turkey! Everyone’s happy! The Post runs pissy columns questioning the patriotism of their enemies! There’s camraderie! It’s a hundred twelve degrees out and the sky is overcast with this horrible glowing white color that makes everything look awful!
Bonus: After the show, the city turns into Night Of The Living Dead!
THE FOURTH OF JULY!
My best instincts told me not to go to the waterfront. It’s what I’ve done every year in the past. Go to McCarren Park, I said to myself, and settle for the somewhat crappier view from the middle of the football field. But, of course, I didn’t. I just got on the subway and went to the Brooklyn Heights promenade, about an hour before the show.
And it wasn’t bad! There was space! I was happy! But as the crowds pile in, your view of the skyline slowly transforms into your view of the ass, and your newfound sense of community slowly evolves into a wish that everyone would just go the fuck home, you realize the truth — all public events in New York suck, all the time, no matter what. You thought today would be the exception — the first exception since 1880, when it is rumored that the Gentlemen’s Haberdashery Faire was pretty fun. The Long Islanders behind you are trying to figure out which of the downtown skyscrapers is the Empire State Building. (Hint: None of them.) Yeah, a good time. You were wrong. Again. The thing about New York is that you are always wrong.