I agree. But their are certain stereotypes, maybe myths or urban folk tales is a better term, about life in New York that are all too true.

I have first hand knowledge of that old art world chestnut, "shared work-live" with a girlfriend. As soon as we got it trimmed out the way we wanted, she announced that she had fallen out of love with me, and would appreciate it if I packed my things and left.

I ended up in an S.R.O. in greenpoint that made all my clothes smelled like piss and lysol.

Later, I found out that this very same thing had happened to a ton of guys around the neighborhood. Every now and then when I would walk past the office at said S.R.O. and I would catch a glimpse of another hipster checking in, scared and nervous, probably still in disbelief that they were suffering this cruel fate. I would laugh to myself, wondering if they understood how quickly life at the bottom becomes routine. How that after while, life at the bottom becomes a comfort in it's simplicity.

Anything to keep the dream alive.

So the next time your in the west side tavern or jimmies corner or any of the other true drinkers bars in the city, and you see that guy who, although well dressed, smells faintly of urine and appears to be trying to drink himself to death, try not to judge too harshly.

As far as the people who announce their nuptials in the NYT are concerned, thats their currency. They have no idea how tacky they come off. Nor do they care, I'm sure. It's pride without a fall.

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