For her birthday, my wife got a large framed photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise. Of course, it went straight up on the living room wall and it has to stay there. I certainly don’t want to cause any trouble with the in-laws and we did need something in that spot. But good lord it is just about the ugliest work of art I have ever seen in my life. (for the purposes of this essay, at least, I am defining as anything inside a frame)
First of all, it is beyond my understanding how anyone can consider New York a beautiful city. Interesting, fascinating, vibrant, impressive, awe-inspiring or amazing I can understand, but not beautiful. There is nothing inherently aesthetically pleasing about a skyscraper and, outside of the skyscraper neighborhoods, New York is composed of block after block of old, crumbling ugly brick buildings which are still standing only because they are too close together to fall down. The streets are full of potholes, the sidewalks are strewn with garbage, there are homeless people everywhere and homeless people tend to be very unattractive.
Yes, I have heard many people say that the most beautiful women in the world live in New York City, but you don’t see them riding on the subway. The actors and actresses who live in fancy penthouses and drive around the city in limousines barely count. Also, New York is a city of 10 million people. If there weren’t a handful of them who were stunningly gorgeous, it would be surprising.
If you’re rating cities on the proportion of their female population that is stunningly gorgeous, Prague has New York City beat all to hell.
So, as I type this, I look at downtown Manhattan through the wires and beams and towers that make up the top level of the Brooklyn Bridge. And I’m just glad I’m not there.
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