Manhattan Offender

Obiter Dictum - Almost a year after quitting, I've fully become the kind of self-righteous ex-smoker that every smoker hates.

In response to New York City to Try Ban on Smoking in Parks & Beaches:

Still smoking at this point is like still being a Republican at this point; you do it out of spite and willful ignorance.

Obiter Dictum: The Trophies Of Fifth Avenue

Via This, regarding This:

In high school, amongst other things, I was on the Debate Team. Also amongst other things, I excelled at it. In fact, I was state champion.

Because of this success, I won many ribbons, and at the bigger tournaments, trophies. Those trophies are still out and about at the old house. Some rusted. Some cracked. Some have faded out. But they’re still around, steady on their marble bases with gold leaf clinging to rusting base material.

I love my old trophies.

Obiter dictum: Explaining my Pavlovian response to all matters "San Francisco".

In response to this (strangely):

Anytime I hear someone sing praise of San Francisco, I get angry for some reason. I’ve never even been there, but there was this kid, "Jimmy", that transferred in the senior year of high school that dared to be both smart and popular and rebellious. Dammit, but that was my fucking niche, and I stood my ground and relegated him out of the popular circles. We almost fought once, but didn’t, girlfriends holding us back, “Stop it! Stop it!” By the end of senior year, I was nominated for prom court and Jimmy wasn’t so it all worked out. I didn’t even go to the dance (even though a girl’s parents offered to buy me a tux, but hello? Steve has already fucked her, which means she was already a slut so what did I want with her?) I know through that “People you may know” upper righthand corner ghost on Facebook that Jimmy is bald in a bad way now (not in the acceptable way I am), but I won’t friend him because we weren’t and aren’t.

Two friends of mine are moving to San Francisco, one this month to be a teacher and one next to skateboard or some shit. They’re both bangable (June moreso than July), but I haven’t, which means they are actually just friends. Both have offered lodging if I were to come out (”You’d love it out there.”) but I’d really prefer to go to Europe or Morocco (and I have always had a fascination with Key West).

So when I think of tacos, real tacos without Chamomille-filtered Angus-grade tofu, I’ll go to my local Taco Truck. Or Mexico (despite the risk of kidnapping). But San Francisco? San Francisco can go fuck itself.

Obiter dictum: Some day all of the editors will retire and the assistant editors that came here on Carrie Bradshaw dreams and Whitney Port talents will rise up and rule Harper Collins. That day has come.

In response to "Future Blogger Book Deal of the Week":

"Yeah, New York is great Stacia!  I was totally worried about getting a job and stuff, what with my, you know, "problem".  But I went to this place that I think Oprah owns?  Harprah Collins?  And they totally don't care that I'm alliture ... illligut ..., that you know, I can't read and shit."

Obiter dictum - The theories we compose in the effort to convince our selves that Madonna is still "edgy".

In response to "Bitch Tits!":

"So essentially Madonna left her husband and father of (some of) her children for a Dominican pre-op trannie?"

Obiter dictum - Suddenly, Last Summer

In response to "Even Maritime Aficionados Not Immune To Economic Calamity"

Was it really just one summer ago that we six sailed from Newport over by The Dunes Club to see the fireworks, the hull filled with cocaine, caviar, Camembert and chardonnay?  How prophetic it was when Stacia held up the suddenly empty vial and announced to our group with a mix of sternness and fear: “Something has happened.”