It’s not just NYC

I also dislike people who like New York City on principle. Especially if they’re not from New York City:

Often times if you ask a white person about where to travel, you will get a lot of responses. But if you ask them about New York, white people will go nuts. They love the city universally and all either live there, have lived there, will live there or want to live there.

White people like New York because it has artists, restaurants, a subway, history, diversity, plays, and other white people. It literally has everything white people need to thrive! The only thing it’s missing is nature, but Central Park is right there, and since you are walking all the time, you are outside!

If you are from New York, tell this to a white person. They will instantly be interested in you “what part of New York? and you are really from there?” When they inevitably tell you about your home town (”I know this great italian place…”) you should respond by saying “man, I thought place was only known to New Yorkers.”

I’ve only ever had one good friend from New York City. She absolutely loathed the cult of NYC, I think I may have picked up a bit of that from her. Living in Europe, I can understand the annoyance; I can’t tell you how many people have attempted to tell me all about their two-days experience of Florence or Venice.

One of the more amusing things that happens while travelling is the way tourists compliment me on my English. Pretty much all of my old American clothes have worn out now, so I am usually taken for an Italian even though no Italian would make that mistake for a second. (They usually think I’m English, sometimes Swiss.) Needless to say, I seldom bother to disabuse them of the notion, it’s more fun to make up something about the wonderful four years I spent learning English and studying the art of mime in Iowa or whatever.

But Europeans are positively the most annoying members of the NYC cult. Seven times out of ten, if a European under the age of 30 finds out you’re an American, he will tell you that he feels a special connection with NYC and it is his heart’s desire to visit it someday. That’s bad enough, but what makes it incredibly irritating is that it is invariably conveyed in a manner that indicates they actually believe that this feeling is unique to them. The other three all want to go to Los Angeles.

Favre calls it a day

Brett Favre has decided to retire from the NFL after 17 seasons.

I will always appreciate Brett Favre for his competitive spirit, his love of the game, and the many passes he threw directly into the chests of Vikings defenders. He was unique, he was a thrower nonpareil, he was the only quarterback whose interceptions you could see coming even before the ball was snapped. He’d narrow his eyes, hunch his shoulders, and hurl the ball at an incredible velocity directly into triple coverage as if he hoped to throw it right through the covering cornerback.

I’ve told this story before, but it seems an apt time to repeat it. When Favre reached his first Pro Bowl, he entered the game when the NFC had the ball in the AFC’s red zone. I have no idea why we were watching the game, but we were, and as soon as he came in, I said “and here comes the INT”. Sure enough, Favre didn’t hesitate for a second, but took a five-step drop and then hurled a ball at about 500 MPH directly into an end zone blanket-covered by the AFC’s very best secondary.

Ladies and gentlemen, a moment of silence for Peter King and the OC, two men who are suffering today.

I’ll actually miss watching Brett play. I will not, however, miss the obsequious behavior of the commentators so smitten by him for lo, these many years.

Demonstrating the point

Lisa Schiffren offers support for Charlotte Allen’s thesis:

Does a certain type of man swoon and faint in the same way? I don’t know. But over a lifetime in and around politics I have seen the equally awful spectacle of the drippy, excrutiatingly earnest young man, defending his views and his candidate at painful and tedious length. All campaigns are stocked with these young men. They approach the candidate with extreme reverence, citing little known and generally irrelevant details about his or her life as if they were kabbalistic invocations. They trade received opinions about floor fights at political conventions held in their infancy as if those had been the high points of their own, personal lives. They have no sense of humor or distance whatsoever. Is this better than swooning?

So, this woman deems the male ability to focus – an aspect of male behavior that is indubitably connected to such things as technological advancement, entrepeneurialism and great guitar solos – is somehow equivalent to women fainting in sexual excitement over a politician? This is nothing more than the typical woman’s equalitarian response to criticism and conflict.

Blog-freaking hoo

John Hawkins talks to five women who are successful bloggers in large part because they are attractive women about the hardships that come with obtaining your success through being attractive and female:

Michelle on how to be a success at blogging.

There are a couple of factors. The first is not to try to be somebody else. If you want to be a success…don’t be another Michelle Malkin or Glenn Reynolds or a Drudge wannabe. The marketplace of ideas rewards original ideas and original thinkers and I think having a niche is very important….

This is more than just a bit ironic coming from the world’s most dedicated Ann Coulter impersonator. I’m only surprised Me So hasn’t dyed her hair blonde. Malkin, like Dawkins and Harris, is an intellectual charlatan who is unable to defend her own positions and she knows it. On the plus side, she is an extremely hard worker and she should be given credit for being one of the earliest campaigners against the Mexican migration, but this is balanced by the fact that she’s the quintessential media whore. That people like John Hawkins should “respect and admire” her simply astounds me. And “courageous”? Please, John, the woman won’t even stand up to defend her own book.

Fiction as non-fiction

The latest publishing scandal is hardly a surprise. I’d bet that the majority of the non-fiction personal triumph tearjerkers out there are substantially fictional:

In “Love and Consequences,” a critically acclaimed memoir published last week, Margaret B. Jones wrote about her life as a half-white, half-Native American girl growing up in South-Central Los Angeles as a foster child among gang-bangers, running drugs for the Bloods. The problem is that none of it is true.

Margaret B. Jones is a pseudonym for Margaret Seltzer, who is all white and grew up in the well-to-do Sherman Oaks section of Los Angeles, in the San Fernando Valley, with her biological family. She graduated from the Campbell Hall School, a private Episcopal day school in the North Hollywood neighborhood. She has never lived with a foster family, nor did she run drugs for any gang members. Nor did she graduate from the University of Oregon, as she had claimed….

The revelations of Ms. Seltzer’s mendacity came in the wake of the news last week that a Holocaust memoir, “Misha: A Mémoire of the Holocaust Years” by Misha Defonseca, was a fake, and perhaps more notoriously, two years ago James Frey, the author of a best-selling memoir, “A Million Little Pieces,” admitted that he had made up or exaggerated details in his account of his drug addiction and recovery.

One would think that the first sign that a chubby, literate white girl claiming that she had run drugs for the Bloods was telling tale tales would be it’s a chubby white girl claiming to have run drugs for the Bloods! In addition to the completely obvious, such as the names “Terrell” (Owens) and “Taye” (Diggs) for her non-existent black foster brothers and the aforementioned fact of the author’s chubby white girlness, it’s worth noting that there is no gang per se called “Bloods”, it’s a broad criminal affiliation to which many location-based gangs belong, not that the chick lit editor who was listening to Ms Seltzer’s melodramatic stories with her heart in her mouth would have known that.

This sort of thing was old when it was Vanilla Ice and Rigoberta Menchu doing it more than a decade ago; I’d guess that most of the successful black gangster rappers are the college-educated sons of doctors and lawyers. This happens because most people like fantasy, but many of them don’t like to admit it.