I’ve snarked at him plenty, but ultimately much respect.
Funny that my old alma mater, the NYPress, has been able to maintain
its pose–that of the drunken self-destructor–longer than the Voice’s progressive-avenger pose. Not that the Press is vital in the least anymore. Both papers lost the people that justified/created those personas years ago.
New York is the city of Time Out. I never would’ve thought so when it debuted. It seemed so laughably gee-whiz, I thought they’d fold in a month. But New York is like that now. (I really, really don’t want to be the “I miss the rats on Rivington Street” guy, OK?) The children move here for fantasies of Sex and the City, expensive shoes and bottle-service clubs, not squats and art and rock and roll.
And I, and I think everybody else, goes looking for their drunken self-destructors and progressive avengers out in the blogosphere. I pass the street corner boxes that distribute the Voice and the Press, and man, they look sad. Moribund.