Brooklyn writing

Sunday afternoon found me speaking to the inestimable Mr. Ford, and I had to note my frustration at his, and other, Brooklyn-based web projects populated with authors (their names either unlikely or pseudonymous) carefully framing their meticulous line drawings with flowery prose laden with turn-of-the-last-century verbal tics. Each piece, naturally, prefaced with ornamentation like "In which..." and "Please find...".

There are many, many such endeavors, of course. I postulated that all of the linguistic adornment was a ruse to hide their feelings of inadequacy for living in Brooklyn instead of Manhattan. I am fairly certain that my little jab was facetious. But then Paul slapped me, and I was chastened. I suppose some humor just pushes the boundaries too far.

Later, I learned that Manhattan is the new Brooklyn and somehow the whole day, the japery, the violence... it all made sense. My ass is the new magazine headline.

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