Go home, Taylor Swift: I'm walkin' here!

Growing up in NYC in the 70s and 80s meant being told to be careful.

"Be careful of Bryant Park - the junkies all hang out there."

"Be careful to hold on tight, if you ride between subway cars."

"Be careful around Times Square - that place is bad news."

"Be careful not to stand near the edge of the platform."

"Be careful with that wallet in your back pocket."

"Be careful who you buy a hot dog from - that guy with the cart on 9th street picks his nose."

We were careful about so many things. We were afraid of almost nothing. The Boogey Man didn't have shit on muggers, rapists, subway rats, roaches, Coney Island on a hot, summer day, the East River looking more solid than liquid or all of Alphabet City. We were the kids who grew up reading about Son of Sam in The New York Post, every day, and following his exploits the way kids in Kansas followed The Hardy Boys. Son of Fucking Sam captured our attention, but he didn't keep people off the streets. Because no white boy with almond-shaped eyes and Dirty Harry's gun was going to shut down the most ass-kicking, hardcore, take-no-shit city the world has ever known.

We were careful, but we were never scared.

I'm not a kid, anymore, though, and what I see in New York scares me. I'm scared of a SOHO that looks like Mall of America. I'm scared of a Starbucks and Jamba Juice on every corner, and of my beloved bodegas disappearing. I'm scared of Pier 46, and the Ikea Ferry, and of Red Hook no longer having any edge. I'm scared of hipsters with ironic beards taking over Williamsburg and Greenpoint. I'm scared of Greek diners in Astoria closing down, the clerk at a Brooklyn deli not having any idea what Manhattan Special is, and of the scarcity of cuchifrito. I'm scared of a plate of fried plantains costing 8 bucks at a vegan restaurant.

I'm scared of the Disneyfication of Times Square.

MY New York isn't Mickey Mouse, dammit. My New York is Daffy fucking Duck, Miguel Pinero, Ratso Rizzo, Patti Smith, Roger Grimsby, Bella Abzug, Walt Frazier. My New York was that crazy, androgynous woman displaying the meatgrinder cover from Hustler magazine, and terrorizing passers by with her loud, aggressive orders to "SIGN THE PETITION!"  Even that crazy bitch is gone. Who would have guessed I'd end up missing her?

I bet David Berkowitz is scared shitless of gluten-free vegan pizza.

I Fucking Love New York

This has been a tough week for my city. It may not be the city I live in at this moment, but New York will always be my city.

Like I said, this has been a tough week for my city and, if I've always loved my city, I love it more during times of adversity. I FUCKING LOVE NEW YORK CITY. Because, when Mother Nature takes a swipe at my city, my city falls flat on its ass, gets up, brushes off, rolls up its sleeves, and gets back into the ring.

 Because NYC firefighters are real-life superheroes.

Because, even when a neighborhood is gone,  the outer boroughs are still about neighbors.

 Because there is generosity and decency to be found in unlikely places.

Because hell, yes, we're open for business.

 Because my gorgeous fellow bridge-and-tunnel people look out their windows at a rising flood, and think, "I have a motherfucking canoe and a paddle around here somewhere."

Because, battered and bruised, Nathan's still stands.

Because the NYC subway system was opened in 1904. NINETEEN FUCKING OH FOUR. That's 108 years ago. Flood the shit out of those tunnels. Go ahead. Do your best. My city is getting a bunch of them back online within the week, bitch.

Because even in the dark, and under water, there is no city more beautiful.