Denis Leary used to do a great bit where he said that the best thing about living in New York is that the city offers you so many interesting ways to die.
To wit, another crane has collapsed about ten blocks from my apartment on the Upper East Side, killing at least two people. This is the second time something like this has happened in the past three months; the last one was ten blocks from my place in the opposite direction and killed seven people.
Back in 2006, a small plane slammed into the building directly across the street from mine. Yankees pitcher Cory Lidle died in that one.
Then of course there was last February, when a psychopath walked into a therapist's office about a block away from where I live and hacked her up with a meat cleaver.
None of this even takes into account the roving packs of aging, badly-dressed, cosmo-slurping whores who'll be terrorizing the innocent all weekend in a pathetic effort to emulate their onscreen idols in that new blight on American pop culture known as the Sex and the City movie.
Yup, Jayne and I couldn't have picked a better time to be leaving the Upper East Side in search of a bigger place for baby.
This neighborhood's just too dangerous these days.