So therapeutic is the accent, in fact, that I recently forgave ol’ “Lies Behind Blue Eyes” Bradley Cooper. Cooper has settled into his role as Philadelphia’s best-looking son, and in several promo videos for this and last year’s Eagles season, the actor redeemed himself from his former silver-lined embarrassment. “This is moawr than a faa-mly,” he intoned, laying the accent on thick as sweeping panoramas of Philadelphia played across a screen. “This is oauwr faa-mly.”
OK, Brad. I hear you. Don’t let me down again.
I love New York for the 25-cent, hard-as-bricks Now and Laters you can buy at its bodegas, and the carbon-copy banana nut muffins that are invariably sold at whichever coffee shop you happen to be in. I am a fan of its “art.” I hope I’m laid to rest in the waters at Rockaway Beach, because nothing is more awe-inspiring to me than a seaside arrived at by subway. I am not “too proud” to admit any of these things, because we all know that New York is, without question, a Great City.