THE HORROR, THE HORROR, THE SEQUEL. Thank you, internet. Just when I was starting to miss New York, you snapped me out of it:



That awful Jay-Z thing, which makes "New York, New York" sound like Michael Hordern reading "Sailing to Byzantium." Conspicuous consumption. Having it all. The boredom of the privileged masquerading as dramatic conflict. Liza Minnelli. It's like ipecac for homesickness, and if that doesn't get it out of my system, there's always the unsettling feeling that, at any minute, one of their faces might cave in.

They really should have taken my advice.

UPDATE. Oh Christ no.