Andy Hirschfeld

NYC bagel shops need to get with the times. The bagels in LA suck, but all the LA bagel shops at least use cashew-based vegan cream cheese. NYC bagel shops almost never have vegan cc or they’re using hyper processed Tofutti 🤢. I hope Zohran can remedy this

Trump on this Sunday afternoon: “Ken Paxton was a GREAT Attorney General, probably the best in the Country. He was also very loyal…” “Ken’s opponent was VERY disloyal to me, as President, and didn’t fight hard enough for the desperately needed Save America Act”

Sulzberger also spoke in detail about the new ownership and management at CBS News, which has "already altered programming, personnel and policies in ways that more closely align with the administration's preferences."

People don’t hate data centers. They hate tech bros.

1,000 World Cup tickets. $50 each. All for New Yorkers. We fought hard to make the people’s game available to the people — and won. Let the summer of soccer begin.

NYC is no longer a city, it is an algorithm. If you live in, say, Cincinnati, when you go to get ice cream with your friends, you really are just going to get ice cream with your friends. In NYC, this is not possible. You cannot just go to get ice cream, because, against your will, you are very self-consciously “someone who lives in NYC, going to get ice cream with their friends, in NYC.” You are never able to achieve full presence of mind because you are constantly placing yourself inside a chapter in some made up, schizophrenic and highly disorienting book. Put another way, as a New Yorker, you do not live in a city, but a massive, procedurally generated simulation of one. You are nothing more than a vapid unit of flesh and bone trapped since a Baudrillardian infinity mirror, where the references have their own references. You become more of a vague concept than a real person—some strange, soulless mix of ambition and violent/sexual impulses—and in your constant confusion you fail to ever become a true subject. You pay $17 for the ice cream cone. Then, you pull out your list of saved Instagram Reels which tell you where to get reservations for pasta later. When you arrive, you find yourself stuck in yet another long line, with people who look just like you. The longer you wait in lines like these, the harder it becomes to ever recover the soul of the person you were before you moved into your East Village studio.

NYC is no longer a city, it is an algorithm. If you live in, say, Cincinnati, when you go to get ice cream with your friends, you really are just going to get ice cream with your friends. In NYC, this is not possible. You cannot just go to get ice cream, because, against your will, you are very self-consciously “someone who lives in NYC, going to get ice cream with their friends, in NYC.” You are never able to achieve full presence of mind because you are constantly placing yourself inside a chapter in some made up, schizophrenic and highly disorienting book. Put another way, as a New Yorker, you do not live in a city, but a massive, procedurally generated simulation of one. You are nothing more than a vapid unit of flesh and bone trapped since a Baudrillardian infinity mirror, where the references have their own references. You become more of a vague concept than a real person—some strange, soulless mix of ambition and violent/sexual impulses—and in your constant confusion you fail to ever become a true subject. You pay $17 for the ice cream cone. Then, you pull out your list of saved Instagram Reels which tell you where to get reservations for pasta later. When you arrive, you find yourself stuck in yet another long line, with people who look just like you. The longer you wait in lines like these, the harder it becomes to ever recover the soul of the person you were before you moved into your East Village studio.