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Walking by books left on stoops near potted plants and ground cigarette butts, school-for-retard reminiscent co-op deliverypeople, beautiful babies in strollers–the only neighborhood in NYC with a higher ratio of beautiful babies to beautiful women (they made them, of course)–amoebas chalk-drawn on sidewalks by overachieving children everywhere in glasses and bad clothing styles, the brownest of brownstones, o Park Slope, you bourgeois sloppy mess, how I adore you.

It’s cold again in New York. Tonight I’ve initiated a youtube video showdown between 1970s-era Paul McCartney and Rod Stewart. Paul has the edge but that’s kind of unfair. It’s devolved, in any case, in all the ways you (and the folks at google) might imagine. If Noel Fielding ever wanted to stop being one of the funniest people alive (and please don’t) he would be a shoe-in for the bio-pic of the young Stewart. If Norah Jones could be or sing prettier then all sorts of impossible things could happen. Is there a shoe-in for Ronnie Wood, is the question. It’s Christmastime. Maybe it will snow. Like last year.

Let It Snow, Slope


From → What's Ours

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