Wow, if ever there's a time to write a braggy, name-dropping essay about how cool your life is, I suppose one's 31 birthday is the time. But as these kinds of "Poor me, I live a life the rest of you can only dream of, but really...woe is me..it's not entirely fabulous" [a genre which includes: 'poor me, I'm rich' and 'poor me, I'm a celebrity'] essays go, this one was incredibly well-written. Obnoxious, but well-written. But one thing: New York is the best magazine of our times? Seriously, who says that? Besides investment banker boys who find their Details subscription too intellectual? New York is like the stupid (moneyed) man's Atlantic.