Kesselschlact

October 16, 1998

Manhattanites view the rest of the world with contempt.

Among the paratroopers of the Unites States Army there is a belief that "if you ain't Airborne, you ain't shit!" A similar belief exists among the inhabitants of this tiny East Coast island bounded by the Hudson and East Rivers. "If you don't live in New York, you ain't shit!"

Those who live in Brooklyn, Queens, or on Long Island are snidely regarded as "the bridge and tunnel crowd." Those from New Jersey--like me--are dismissed as simply "guys from...ugh...Jersey."

Manhattanites even discriminate against themselves. Harlem, while part of the same island, is written off as "Harlem...you don'=t want go up there."

So, unless one lives below 110th Street, east of Riverside Drive, west of FDR Drive, and north of Battery Park, you ain't shit.

Reading the news this week, Manhattanites might be justified in thinking that the rest of America is a cultural wasteland full of empty-headed dolts. The crucifixion of that gay kid in Wyoming showed that not everyone is as tolerant as those at the core of the Big Apple.

But one doesn't need to go as far as Wyoming to see the differences between Manhattan and "the rest of America." One can look right across the Hudson River into Hoboken, a town often referred to as "where the rest of America begins." A five minute bus-ride through that Mile Square City makes one wonder what goes through a man's mind when he wakes up in the morning, walks over to his dresser, and starts donning the gold bracelet, necklace, and pinky ring. Why the see-through, black, mesh T-shirt? And how do these guys not go broke going through hair spray at a rate of one can every 1.5 days? You won't see that among Manhattanites, with their Tiffany bracelets, Prada evening wear, and $250 haircuts done by a man named Robert. (Pronounced "roe-bear.")

With their style and their progressive way of thinking, the residents of the island of Manhattan are very unlike their brethren on the mainland. In fact, I would suspect that most Manhattanites think of themselves as New Yorkers rather than Americans.

So where does a sophisticated New Yorker go on vacation. How can one avoid the rubes that reside in Richmond or Reno? Easy, just travel to the other New Yorks of the world. Paris, London, Rome, et al. While the rest of us travel the circuit of farm team cities (Denver, Dallas, Raleigh-Durham), these folks play only in big league ballparks.

In my eleven months here, I've found that there really are two Americas. The distance separating Manhattan from the rest of the country may only be a few thousand yards across the Hudson, but it might as well be a few million miles. To become a New Yorker is to renounce your American citizenship.

And that is something I can't afford. Now I'm not talking about some sort of spiritual cache that I refuse to liquidate. I mean I really can't afford to become a New Yorker.

Yesterday, I looked at an apartment on Thompson Street in Greenwich Village. For $1200 per month (plus a couple thousand in broker fees) I could have rented a place that was almost as big as that Volkswagen van that Tommy and David used to ride around in on Eight Is Enough. But that wasn't the absurd part.

When I asked, "Hey! Where's the bathroom in this place?" the real estate rapist (agent) replied, "It's down the hall. You share it with the other folks on the floor."

The sad thing is, some fool will rent the place simply because they just "have to live in Manhattan." But not me. While it may be true that if you ain't a New Yorker you ain't shit, at least I can shit in my own private bowl.

Broadway Jim Jenkins

		Kesselschlact
		October 16, 1998 Manhattanites view the rest of the world with contempt. Among the paratroopers of the Unites States Army there is a belief that "if you ain't Airborne, you ain't shit!" A similar belief exists among the inhabitants of this tiny East Coast island bounded by the Hudson and East Rivers. "If you don't live in New York, you ain't shit!" Those who live in Brooklyn, Queens, or on Long Island are snidely regarded as "the bridge and tunnel crowd." Those from New Jersey--like me--are dismissed as simply "guys from...ugh...Jersey." Manhattanites even discriminate against themselves. Harlem, while part of the same island, is written off as "Harlem...you don'=t want go up there." So, unless one lives below 110th Street, east of Riverside Drive, west of FDR Drive, and north of Battery Park, you ain't shit. Reading the news this week, Manhattanites might be justified in thinking that the rest of America is a cultural wasteland full of empty-headed dolts. The crucifixion of that gay kid in Wyoming showed that not everyone is as tolerant as those at the core of the Big Apple. But one doesn't need to go as far as Wyoming to see the differences between Manhattan and "the rest of America." One can look right across the Hudson River into Hoboken, a town often referred to as "where the rest of America begins." A five minute bus-ride through that Mile Square City makes one wonder what goes through a man's mind when he wakes up in the morning, walks over to his dresser, and starts donning the gold bracelet, necklace, and pinky ring. Why the see-through, black, mesh T-shirt? And how do these guys not go broke going through hair spray at a rate of one can every 1.5 days? You won't see that among Manhattanites, with their Tiffany bracelets, Prada evening wear, and $250 haircuts done by a man named Robert. (Pronounced "roe-bear.") With their style and their progressive way of thinking, the residents of the island of Manhattan are very unlike their brethren on the mainland. In fact, I would suspect that most Manhattanites think of themselves as New Yorkers rather than Americans. So where does a sophisticated New Yorker go on vacation. How can one avoid the rubes that reside in Richmond or Reno? Easy, just travel to the other New Yorks of the world. Paris, London, Rome, et al. While the rest of us travel the circuit of farm team cities (Denver, Dallas, Raleigh-Durham), these folks play only in big league ballparks. In my eleven months here, I've found that there really are two Americas. The distance separating Manhattan from the rest of the country may only be a few thousand yards across the Hudson, but it might as well be a few million miles. To become a New Yorker is to renounce your American citizenship. And that is something I can't afford. Now I'm not talking about some sort of spiritual cache that I refuse to liquidate. I mean I really can't afford to become a New Yorker. Yesterday, I looked at an apartment on Thompson Street in Greenwich Village. For $1200 per month (plus a couple thousand in broker fees) I could have rented a place that was almost as big as that Volkswagen van that Tommy and David used to ride around in on Eight Is Enough. But that wasn't the absurd part. When I asked, "Hey! Where's the bathroom in this place?" the real estate rapist (agent) replied, "It's down the hall. You share it with the other folks on the floor." The sad thing is, some fool will rent the place simply because they just "have to live in Manhattan." But not me. While it may be true that if you ain't a New Yorker you ain't shit, at least I can shit in my own private bowl. Broadway Jim Jenkins