Last night I dreamed that a new, swank restaurant opened up in Chelsea called Studio 9. It was only for real, old-school New Yorkers--only for the fierce and the extraordinary. Well, a 400-pound tourist woman tried to get a table and was turned down. A riot of thousands of 400-pound tourist women ensued, all trying to get in to the restaurant where a few, rarified real New Yorkers were eating steaks and drinking dirty, unflavored martinis. A gender-bending drag queen walked through the crowd with a big sign that said, “The Cheesy Apple,” i.e., communicating that New York is now tacky and full of riff-raff.
I have dreams like this regularly – like that I’m trying to have a roof party with friends and a stroller harpy busts in with her kids. Even in my dreams I can’t have a New York experience anymore.