Dear New York City,
I have to admit that I’ve been a little hard on you. Sure, your streets smell like urine and garbage all summer long. Yes, you’re blanketed in the ugliest yellowish grey snow in the winter. And of course, Canal Street, always choked with aggressive vendors and inconsiderate tourists, is the seventh circle of hell all year long. You can’t help it that your public transportation infrastructure all but shuts down at the mere mention of rain.
Still, you’re also something new to discover every day, in spite of the fact that I’ve lived here most of my life. You’re the great equalizer of hipsters, investment bankers, supermodels, artists, and regular yokels like me.
Taken at the waterfront outside Galapagos Art Space in Brooklyn
Best of all, you’re like a really good kiss – able to catch me off guard and take my breath away. And for that reason, I forgive you Big Apple.
Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man of Mine
I flat-out bawled when I saw you in The Pianist. I cheered aloud when you won your Oscar. I wished I was Halle Berry when you accepted it. Sometimes, I even dream of your perfect nose. What I’m trying to say is that I thought you and I had a good thing going.
Why are you doing this to me? And by “this,” I mean Splice.
Look, I’m willing to you give another chance. You’re the youngest winner of the Best Actor Academy Award ever. Act like it, goddammit.
P.S. Feel free to pass this note on to Halle Berry. I think you guys have met.
Do you still like Pandoran apples? Well, I just grossed $1 billion. How do you like them apples?
Here’s the thing. I know you tried hard to be epic and game changing. You introduced me to a whole new language that didn’t even exist before. I totally respect that you were, like, 20 years in the making. And I know that other critics and audience members out there think that you’re smokin’ hot.
But I guess I just don’t feel…I think maybe we weren’t meant…What I’m really trying to say is I’m just not that into you.
Aww. Come on, Sam. No need to break out the heavy artillery.
Look, I happen to prefer a little more than just eye candy in my movies. I’m not saying you were stupid, just not intellectually complex or stimulating. You know what I mean? Your simplistic, overly reductive story is one I’ve seen and read before, only much better. Every time you started talking all I could think about were past loves like Dances With Wolves, Pocahontas, and even my brief but intense summer romance with District 9. I’m sure you felt it too and that’s just not fair to either of us, now is it?
Please don’t take it too hard. I’m sure there’s a girl out there for you. I mean you have Sam Worthington’s chiseled face and Zoe Saldana’s tots, after all. I want nothing but the best for you (unless, of course, you deprive more deserving pics like Precious, Crazy Heart, The Hurt Locker, Up in the Air, and 500 Days of Summer of their share of this season’s awards).
Maybe we just shouldn’t talk for a while. But I promise not to totally ignore you if I see you on cable in a few months.