I Blame Lou Reed

The First Essential Scary Truth

I have mentioned alluded to and now will finally come out of the closet with this bold declaration: yes, I have left New York.  Currently, I am residing in the wilds of Scottsdale, Arizona while I make the decisions on my apartment, what to write next and how to sell wine to the unsophisticated palates of Arizona diners. (A Manhattan accent is more curiosity than selling point.  I need a better in.)


Several people were shocked by my decision.  One or two wanted to know if I was feeling ok or if there was anything I wanted to tell them.  Answer: no.  After nearly 23 years, I just need the time to sit, re-evaluate, and relax.  Find piece of mind, so to speak.  My friends Jed and George did the same thing over the course of two years; Jed in Turkey and George in Mobile.  Both have recently returned to the city with renewed enthusiasm for the New York City life.  They get it.


But the questions are still being posed: why Alex?  Why leave New York?  Maybe this is the answer for those that don’t understand the concept of NYC burnout.


Lou Reed came in to the joint I was working in far west Chelsea a few weeks before I left.  Lou is still ‘the man,’ as far as I’m concerned.  The walking personification of anything and everything hip in the world.  Even his 2009 persona is brilliant: the cranky old New York artist.  Jesus, if you’re Lou, you’ve earned the right to be a witsy bitsy bitchy.


He called the GM over soon after he sat with his wife and party.  “I ordered a Diet Coke two minutes ago.  I want to know why it’s not on the table,” he complained.  As he is Lou Fucking Reed, the GM came over and retrieved a Diet Coke and had it in front the man in a matter of 30 seconds, no small feat in a joint that seats over 500.  No conversation, no explanations, no discussions.  If he wanted Applebee’s service in a 2 Star Michelin rated restaurant that is exactly the service he would receive. 


Shortly thereafter, Lou demanded he and his wife be served their food BEFORE the rest of his party and they left as soon as they finished.  He stuck is dining companions with the check.


I can’t believe it.  Reed is no longer hip.  He is a Yenta.  My world was shaken straight back to 1987, when I was 18 and came to New York to be some version of Lou Reed.  Jennifer Maher Browne, my dear old friend, got it right away.  Me?  I am still in shock.


Lou Reed a Yenta.


Some East Valley therapist is going to make a mint off of this.




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