Part of living in New York is wrestling with when you become a "real" New Yorker. In part, I believe that it's something you keep earning over and over again. A status to be maintained, if you will. Yesterday I gave a city bus driver the finger--left-handed!--as he pulled away in the rain while I rapped on the door and yelled for him to stop, which covers me for the rest of the year.
Anyway, this morning there's news that Sophie's and Mona's are to be sold. They weren't the nicest bars--Sophie's smelled pretty bad and the men's bathroom had a hole in it exposing you to the elements, but they were the bars where I learned to drink and had all sorts of formative experiences. I watched the Yankees hit unbelievable home runs in the 2001 World Series; I stayed out all night for the first time; I saw a dog drink a beer; I got flashed; and other things that I can't remember or, at the very least, shouldn't mention in polite circles.
They say you become a real New Yorker when you remember what things used to be. I'll be sad to walk by Sophie's and say, that's where I did a lot of growing up. Unless it turns into a Bank of America, which would be pretty convenient, you have to admit.
