There are few things that irk the snots out of me more than “content” created by self-appointed “New Yorkers” (whether the term credibly applies or not) who volunteer tips, pointers, “insider” info and “life hacks” about what’s what in New York City.
Nine times out of ten, these things have been produced by whistle-headed whippersnappers who’ve spent all of about six months living here and think they know the score. I’ve railed at self-styled influencer folks like Brett Conte, Cash Jordan, Elana Taber, Shelby Church and Sarah Funk about this kind of stupid shit, although I’m always quick to mention that each of these individuals entertain vastly greater audiences than this here silly blog. That doesn’t mean they’re right, though, now does it.
Then, of course, there are periodicals like Time Out that routinely post these clickbaity listicles about the best and/or secret locations, services, shops, bars, theaters, retail outlets and amenities that “only Real New Yorkers” know about. And if they are actually right about any of them, all they’re doing it is spoiling it by evangelizing them.
I’ve wrestled with the “real New Yorker” quandary here many times, usually with regards to whether being a native New Yorker like me gives one an edge (ultimately, I’d suggest that it doesn’t). My point was that when you compose your own list in your head of folks who seem to personalize the concept of a “New Yorker” – whether because of their lifestyle of their vocation or their outlook or whatever – very often you’ll find that those individuals actually moved here from somewhere else to re-invent themselves. So much for being a native. Also, there are plenty of actual native New Yorkers who are complete fucking assholes who don’t know shit from Shinola about being an actual New Yorker – and, yes, I’m obviously talking very specifically about that orange pile of abject sewage, Donald Trump. But I digress.
Why am I bringing all this up again, you ask? Well, recently, the Curbed section of New York Magazine (who I do love but have had issues – pardon the pun – with before) posted a magisterial piece, “The Things All New Yorker Should Know (But Most Don’t).” The presumptuous title alone is enough to set my teeth on edge but this one is actually pretty good. Some of my favorite pointers therein are below, and I endorse all of them.
The Chateau Diana sold in every bodega is actually “wine product,” and it’s disgusting! Avoid.
Always Use the 81st Street Entrance to the Met (and when it’s particularly mobbed, walk in — very carefully — through the parking garage on 80th Street.)
Don’t see ‘Shen Yun.’
Always avoid Terminal 5. It’s still a pain to get to and has bad acoustics. -- this is fucking Gospel!!!
The best outdoor concert venue is Forest Hills Stadium. Every seat has a direct view, and there is excellent food.
Just go to the Knickerbocker for dinner. Call 212-228-8490 and ask for a booth.
You can get Prince Street Pizza delivered to the Scratcher bar, on East 5th Street, and forgo the line.
For restaurant reservations: Always call first. You should resort to OpenTable or Resy (or, God forbid, Tock) only if a restaurant doesn’t have a posted phone number.
The famous mutton chop at Keens is actually lamb. It’s fine — but not so good that you should avoid a steak if that’s what you really want.
The Conservatory Garden is the most tranquil part of Central Park.
If you’re lost in Central Park, find a lamppost.The first two or three numbers on it will tell you what cross street you’re closest to.
Find the whole article here.
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