This is why I love NYC:
My local newspaper reported that the Lab Gallery in the Roger Smith Hotel in midtown Manhattan planned a Holy Week exhibition of a nude, anatomically correct chocolate sculpture of Jesus Christ called "My Sweet Lord." Of course, it was canceled, but the gallery's creative director resigned in protest.
Doesn't that make you want to live there? At least for a year? Just to see this stuff firsthand?
A good alternative to living in NYC is reading about living there. Try The Year of Yes, by Maria Dahvana Headley. This is a laugh-out-loud memoir of a twenty-something NYU student who decided her love life needed changing, so she started saying yes to every man (and a couple of women) who asked her out. The dates were usually coffee or drinks, but she did drag one homeless guy who thought he was Jimi Hendrix to the falafel shop, visited Coney Island on the last day of the season for a quick swim in the frigid waters with the happiest conductor on the subway system, offered a mime the death scene of a lifetime, fell in love, fell in lust, and just when she was on the verge of crashing and burning, got it together with The One. (I don't feel I am ruining the story here, because when she meets The One halfway through the book, it is the most shameless foreshadowing I have ever read.) Headley is either the bravest or craziest or the best writer of hyperbole I have ever read. May she live happily ever after (in Seattle).
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