Someone once misquoted Albert Einstein as defining insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
The same could be true about dating in New York.
There was a point last November where I was going on first dates four or five nights a week. I remembered every little detail about each man—that was never the problem, though often I would repeat stories. The Writer had dropped out of college, moved to New York at 19 and developed a crippling self esteem issue that would only be resolved behind closed doors with his therapist and a heavy dose of antidepressants. The Salesman took his clients out drinking on Thursdays and followed up all alcoholic activities with a journey to a strip club fueled by Jack and cokes and bathroom coke. The Lawyer pretended he was 27, and it wasn’t until he admitted his real age (38) did his two-bedroom palace on Park Avenue with working fireplace, antique furniture and extensive Italian wine collection finally make sense to me, though I still maintain his diminishing hairline could have fooled anyone.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth