Pardon my tardiness: I decided to take a last-minute jaunt to New York City. My hotel and office are both in Times Square. I mention this neither to brag nor to elicit your pity. Instead, it has informed my opinion: we ain't done nothin' yet.
New York is the kind of city that hands immigrants a dream, an Anglicized last name, and then starts selling you things.
Every side of any building is covered in billboards. You only know you've truly entered Times Square when the neon goes from bright to blinding. The strippers here wear pasties and g-strings not because of any sense of decency but because those particular pieces of fabric have the most impressions (read: eyeballs) to offer.
No, so long as we're merely exhuming corpses and not spray-painting them with our messages, I think we'll be all right.
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