1. Short Fiction in The New Yorker
On the one hand, it’s the only high-profile magazine publishing literary fiction on a weekly basis — on the other hand, it’s the only high-profile magazine publishing literary fiction on a weekly basis, and a lack of challengers to its upper-middlebrow hegemony means it errs on the side of stolidity. Take more chances, please.
2. The Bohemian Beer Hall and Garden
Really? You still want to go up to Queens for your goodbye birthday party? And wait in line with douchebags, and then sober up on the long ride home? Sure, go ahead.
3. Michael Bloomberg
It’s the economy, stupid: Mayor Mike is no more responsible for this Era of Good Feeling than Broken Windows was for the Giuliani-era sanitization. All his ideas are bread and circus panders: The West Side Stadium. The Olympics bid. The RNC. So, yeah, he’d make a great President.
4. Peter Luger
It’s difficult to argue with a more than a hundred years of unrelenting praise, but we’re pretty much over the whole Peter Luger thing. The wood paneling is homey, and the generally run-down look quite inviting, but on a recent trip, our steak arrived far under-cooked and even a little bit under-sized. There are too many steak options in the city to put up with this any longer.
5. Yankee Stadium
Can you believe they’re knocking down the House That Ruth Built?! We can, and we don’t care. For all its history, we can no longer look at it as anything other than the place in which Roger Clemens’ return to the Yankees was announced in a way that can only be described as something you’d see in a professional wrestling event. Have fun knocking it down, and don’t feel bad if Susan Waldman is stuck inside.