The Lexicographer's Rules

"Remember last autumn, when New Yorkers felt omnipotent? We had the Subway Series, a frothy, yeasty Dow, frilly, feminine fashions, serious steaks at restaurants, a Mayor who was boldly stepping out with his mistress (how French!). We were playing handball inside our lofts, the better half of Hollywood was relocating to Tribeca, women in their mid-40's were popping out babies, and the political climate was about to be dominatrixed by the smooth, competent, sexlessly reassuring Gore Girls. Well, this fall already feels like a bracing cold shower."

—New York Observer. Our fluctuating fortune, candidly expressed with new shoes and a disregard for last year's presuppositions and fantasies, is still further out of our control. "Rudy Giuliani isn't going to take care of us anymore; fashions have turned dark, bohemian, ugly; last year's toys seem malevolent (S.U.V.'s); suddenly David Dinkins is popping up everywhere, rebuttoning those double-breasted suits he wore like armor as the city despaired in the early 1990's. The less said about the Hamptons, summer 2001, the better; ditto for the Mayoral primary."'

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