Postcard from New York: week ending April 7th, 2006
My favorite view from the cartoon department at The New Yorker.
The immigrants who teach our children Spanish, shine our shoes, trim our hedges, and clean our houses (when we’re prosperous enough to afford their meager wages) took to the the streets Sunday,waving diverse flags and raising issues of assimilation first and second generation Americans should think about: Who do you come from?
Apparently people have finally noticed the new European-Latino inspired trend of kissing people you barely know: Warning: when a kiss becomes two kisses, it can become four, which I thought I’d happily left behind when I left France to come to the land of the handshake.
Other bad manners I have objected to this week involve the wearing of sweatpants and the use of a stranger’s arm for the purposes of sexual gratification during rush hour, which I think is very rude! It’s time to shape up and observe better decorum in the subway: Live from the 1 train: the new rules.
I was berated for eating french fries by a well-paying customer, whose extended hours forced me to drop by The New Yorker’s premises with my batch after hours, a lonely journey that brought on memories and theories about the feminine side of being a cartoonist: Late night at TNY: the secret lives of cartoonists and models.
The exterminator came, and I posted an exterminator cartoon in honor of him as he’s the most important man in my life these days: Live from Washington Heights: Rejected cartoon of the day. Thank you Mr. Exterminator!
And I had my last mouth-watering bowl of sweet white miso soup with lemon rind, and last beautiful plate of sushi and sashimi before paying my taxes, at one of the finer Tables for One: Takahachi Tribeca. When you eat there, think of me!
