A Man With A Big, Irrelevant Problem to Consider

Believe me, the dumb polaroid format is only the tip of the iceberg.

Thank you, New York Times. Lest I go a single day without a well-manicured interview of a self-indulgent, privileged New Yorker, you are there to reassure me that these people's random stories are not only representative of all of NYC, but are relevant to everyone as some kind of "big news." Obviously, we'd never read about the commonplace dilemma of a middle class black woman, a random old person, or a Pakistani immigrant, etc.; these people don't seem to exist at all to the Times unless there's an actual issue involved, or if one of them does something really notable, really bad, or is tragically killed. But somehow stupid, quotidian stories of well-to-do "trendy" people always get top priority, as if everyone cares. The unrelenting yuppie-pandering aspect of the Times is part of what makes today's account of one 30-year-old's very unimportant dilemma ("A Man With a Bicycle To Consider," 12/06/10) especially banal and infuriating.

Matthew McLaughlin, a sweater-wearing dude who teaches science in the Bronx (he began, not surprisingly, with Teach for America), is undergoing the very tough process of buying a fabulous apartment in the city. And so far, his prospects are pretty good. He's got a reasonable budget, "enjoys experiencing life in different areas," loves diversity, and all that jazz. The catch? He has to accommodate his lifetime companion and transportation aid, his just-trendy-enough bicycle.

Like loads of other bike-riding yuppiehipsters who just looove New York, Mr. McLaughlin takes great pride in saying that he previously lived in notorious parts of upper Manhattan like Harlem, Washington Heights, and Inwood, where each of his apartments was simply great, save for certain downfalls -- "poor maintenance, excessive noise, no view," and in one case a toddler dribbling a basketball all day long (No view?! A toddler dribbling a basketball? Boo Fucking Hoo). At the start of his recent apartment search, McLaughlin applied to live in two co-ops in Hudson Heights, but got denied (good thing, our vegetarian hero rationalizes, as the veg options are decidedly limited there). ...This speaks for itself.

If you're not already vomiting at the sheer inanity of this article (which, I remind you, is located in arguably the greatest news source in the Free World), let's read on. All would be just peachy for Mr. McLaughlin if only he did not have to accommodate his dear bicycle. Since he must be able to ride back and forth to work, he cannot live in Brooklyn (he claims it's because he doesn't want to switch schools, but maybe he's just afraid that the A-List hipsters there will rag on his bike). He simply will not tolerate a public bike room (the two-wheeled beauties must be kept conveniently stacked against the wall, in a hallway dedicated exclusively to that purpose). And he needs a suitable view so that he can "witness weather patterns developing" (as much as I'm gagging, I have to at least give the guy credit for wanting to know whether to use his water-resistant messenger bag instead of his sensible backpack).

He ends up choosing Astoria, hands-down, in an area located right across the RFK bridge from the Bronx. But the dilemma rages on. One nearly-perfect apartment has only a "partial view" of Manhattan, which is simply too much of a sacrifice for Mr. McLaughlin (what, weather patterns don't develop in any part of that vista?). Others don't have the requisite bike-leaning hallway he desires. Finally, he finds a perfect spot, where "every window had a view of Manhattan. There was a hallway for his bikes. In the living room, he could create a seating area around the television as well as a dining area with a table for six, just the right size for playing board games with friends." Not too soon after, he moves in with his cat, Parvati (please tell me it wasn't named after the Harry Potter character). To this day, he is thrilled with the place. On occasion, our hero even skips the elevator and hauls his bike up the stairs (which, he boasts, are nothing compared to the ones he climbs with his bike on the RFK bridge en route to work).

Before you get positively ill over the image of Mr. McLaughlin playing Cranium with his bearded Teach-for-America buddies or making the Everest-like trek up his apartment stairs with his bike in tow, consider this: what he loves the most, after all that biking and teaching underprivileged kids in the Bronx and eating expensive vegetarian cuisine, is seeing the "twinkling lights of Manhattan," which are far preferable to the daytime cityscape.

I'll suspend my nausea for a hot minute, as I have a definite sore spot for the nighttime skyline, too, and appreciate a guy who cares for his bicycle (plus, he's probably got great legs). But the fact that Mr. McLaughlin's disgustingly privileged and commonplace story has not only reached outside the confines of his moleskine, but has made the New York Times, fills me with nothing less than bitterness and contempt. Boo Fucking Hoo: your story is useless.

Article here:  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/realestate/05hunt.html?hp