on some shadowed, quiet landing in the fire escapes of my reason sits a naive gijyun that operates on stereotypes.

there is a part of me that hasn't been adequately flexed that envisions people in new york all walk around with iPods and glasses of wine in their hand, laughing about how they got this really ugly pair of boots from the thrift store last weekend as an ironic addition to their new work suit, which, ironically, can double as evening wear to the secret dance party that no one knows about yet where they whisper rude things about people while they sweat in a basement, and then go home to an 800 square foot studio that house their associate director business suits and american apparel for the job they have to make their monthly $3,000 rent. also, they never smile, and they social climb so they can drink for free.

similarly, in l.a., i envision that people have sunglasses permanently surgeried to their face, because you need them even in places like the gym or the shower. and they carry rum and diet cokes every where they go, wearing obnoxious boots that hint of vintage and irony (a new trend the origins they know not of), and are all very orange, and talk about how to walk over your coworkers to get a promotion so you can buy a flat screen t.v. that's .25 inches bigger than the one you have now. also, they had their smile surgically implanted, and they social climb so they can drink for free.

in denver, snarkiness acts as currency at local bars, and you hide the fact that you got that great shirt from urban outfitters because you couldn't afford the exact same one from one of the boutiques on broadway or colfax. and you've tried several times to make "night" with some sort of "theme" but you just can't get it to take off because no one does anything fun anymore, but it doesn't matter because you're worried about other things like the redunkulous house you just bought because you're extremely educated and white, all the good bands don't skip your town anymore. also, you smile all the time because you're a hippie, and you can afford to drink so you disregard the social climbing.

in philadelphia, you make a point to participate in things, if not only to prove that you're just as good if not better than new york. and you just wish people would stop comparing you to new york. or calling you the sixth burrough of new york. or calling you new york's little brother. or wishing people would stop asking you to come up to new york all the time. you have thought about taking a job in new york, but then you wouldn't be able to live in an apartment you can afford, or make fun of the snotty kids in new york anymore. you get stabbed in the back. you smirk naturally all the time, and everyone's just as broke as you are, so free drinks don't exist.

in chicago, people in the winter are too cold to talk. in boston they're too busy reading the newspaper. seattle and portland are tied up with trying to organize a grunge renaissance, austin's already too cool for everything, atlanta is a soverign southern nation, and salt lake city just acquired a dooce, so they're set for at least another decade.

in summary, let this be the last post in which i refer to myself in the third person, and god bless the u.s.a.