Animal Cruelty

Many believe Michael Vick is Anti-PETA/the devil/and a despicable sorry excuse for a human-being. While I don't condone the behavior that landed Vick in a penitentiary (where his life was hardly disrupted), what with a regiment of lifting weights, scheduled laps around the exercise yard, and watching cable daily, I'd hardly consider him cruel. The man had an addiction. He was a gambling fool.

The flagrant offense is on display everyday in Gotham on the UES. Irresponsible girls think it's a rite of passage to move into an apartment, that their parents completely subsidize, with a beloved dog. Consider the following hypothetical girl. Strike one: she doesn't make enough money to bankroll her "out-every-night-of-the-week-clubbing" lifestyle, let alone that mangy rat that she calls a dog. Strike two: she dresses her little toy pup in a matching Burberry jacket, because everyone knows that she has to match her mommy. Strike three: the bitch drops the most foul feces all over the sidewalk, whilst the other bitch sips her skinny non-fat grande peppermint-cinno and calls her friend Samantha (you know, the one that has all of the sex) on her Blackberry, which means she conveniently missed Truffle's little gift that I'm bound to walk in on the way to the subway.

It's the little things that make me think I'm over this city. It makes me want to flee to some secluded area of New England like Salinger, and sooner or later I'd fade from the "collective" memory, with Birthdays passing unnoticed. Irrelevance is bliss.