Dear Diary,
New York values. Let me tell you something. My whole existence is one giant stinking New York value. If I was going to get a tattoo across my entire back, I would probably get one that says “CONTAINS NEW YORK VALUES”—smeared in hot-dog ketchup and subway-pole grease.
I hesitate to even refer to Ted Cruz by name—even in this diary—since the schmuck doesn’t deserve it, but, honestly, this sort of aggression . . . it’s like someone going to Rome and setting a slice of pizza on fire, or going to Hollywood and pissing on George Clooney’s lawn. You don’t insult New York frickin’ City at a presidential debate.
Hold on, I’m going to get an antacid.
O.K., back.
You know, it’s even worse than that, since the cornball took donations from New Yorkers to fund his train wreck of a campaign! So it’s like if the guy went to Italy, ate pizza for weeks, and then exploded the pizzeria. O.K., that’s not even the exact right metaphor, but you see what I’m trying to say.
Anyone who can make Donald Trump seem as sane as Maya Angelou is a through-and-through problem.
It’s been a long few days. I followed through on some legislation that I started at the beginning of my tenure to eliminate the (inhumane) (it goes without saying) (why do I even have to keep justifying this?) (do people not see that IT IS NOT FUN FOR HORSES TO SCHLEP AROUND TOURISTS IN CARRIAGES?!?!?) (is that such a difficult concept to get a handle on???) horse-carriage industry. Shouldn’t I be commended for follow-through and drive here? How many politicians actually see through their campaign promises? And shouldn’t I be respected for sticking up for the animals? Well, the answers to those three questions are apparently: no, a dumbfounded stare, and definitely not.
Instead, I’ve got the horse people all up in arms (since we could only reduce the number of carriages rather than eliminating them entirely), and they’re going on and on about “punishing working conditions.” What about the fact that there are only going to be 95 horses in rotation now instead of 220?!?! The Post isn’t exactly flashing that fact up in lights. And then the pedicab drivers are yapping about lost jobs. Oh, so now everyone is all concerned about the well-being of pedicab drivers? They’ll be fine! They can go work for the frickin’ Uber monsters. This is like when you find out a diner is discontinuing a brand of soda that you didn’t even drink, but the mere idea of the drink getting pulled gets everyone all defiant and rebellious and doing social-media campaigns about saving it—everyone’s just looking for a goddamn cause. Give me a frickin’ break; sometimes sodas get taken off the menus.
As if this all wasn’t ridiculous enough, a protestor actually showed up with a “HORSE LIVES MATTER” sign. Though . . . you know what . . . actually, I am going to stop myself here. I might have, even just weeks ago, really started railing here about the inanity of such an individual, I might have questioned his or her upbringing, speculated as to what borough this person might hail from, otherwise besmirched his or her name. But, thanks to Ted Cruz (only time you are ever seeing me string those four words together), I am going to restrain myself. Because what is New York values if not accepting one’s ability—a truly New York ability—to believe in something completely offensive and believe it so fully and acutely that you are willing to stand outside in subterranean temperatures to express it.
BdB
Previously: The de Blasio Diaries, Chapter 52: New Year, New BDB
