The Ravine, Central Park, Manhattan
Listen, I see what you’re doing here, but just cut it out. I don’t need the sounds of gently babbling brooks and chirping birds—I have a sink faucet that’s been leaking since the Kennedy Administration and what I can only pray is a family of pigeons roosting in the drop ceiling.
Rockaway Beach, Queens
Hahaha, OK, wooow. I know LA is finally cool now, but let’s at least try to maintain a shred of dignity here. Throw a couple of latex gloves and a half-eaten hot dog in there and we’ll call it even.
Prospect Park, Brooklyn
What is this, the rowboat scene from The Notebook? Well, I’ve never seen The Notebook but I’m pretty sure one tree encased in a sad prison of cement and spaced thirty feet from the next tree is MORE THAN ENOUGH TREES. This? It’s a bit much. And all that oxygen goes right to your head.
Belvedere Castle, Central Park, Manhattan
Might I remind you that this is New York, not some mystical fairyland that makes you feel both young and timeless all at once. If I wanted castles and romance I’ll look at the coupon for a Shrek the Third DVD that I keep taped to my bedroom wall in place of a window.
City Island, Bronx
OK, the clam chowder has made it abundantly clear: there is a difference between New York and New England. If you try to be both at once you become an embarrassing chunky pink mess. PICK A SIDE.
Villa Charlotte Bronte, Riverdale, Bronx
Why? Why? Why? I already know where to go to have Italian culture shoved down my throat: the Two Bros on 17th when I’m wasted at 2 AM on a Wednesday. Sure, I like their dollar slices but they’re also all I can afford since the rent on my leaky-sink-pigeon-infested shoebox is more than tuition at NYU.
The Cloisters, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan
What kind of subway station IS THIS?
Botanical Gardens, Brooklyn
Thanks, but I’d rather shuffle through two inches of ticker tape after the Yankees win their 180th World Series. It smells less like a Bath and Body Works and I can use the little bits of paper to start a trash fire when my hot water heater inevitably goes out on the coldest day of the year.
Renwick Smallpox Hospital, Roosevelt Island, Manhattan
Do you think I have time for this? Literally, do you think I have time to just stop what I’m doing and consider this gorgeous metaphor for life and death? I live off the G train, I don’t have time to boil an egg.
Dead Horse Bay, Brooklyn
How dare you make trash look artistic and deep. TRASH IS TRASH. YOU ARE TRASH. That’s it, I’m moving into the dumpster behind the Tick Tock Diner on 34th. It’s bigger than the soggy pigeon discoball I call an apartment anyway, and the people there understand trash.