Met Steps

Recently the wife and I have been watching the true crime docu-series about the 1986 Central Park "preppy murder" of Jennifer Levin by the handsome psychopath Robert Chambers. Like OJ or Lorena Bobbitt, it's been fascinating for us to see a tabloid story from our youth (actually, more like our childhoods) revisited in-depth with a new, more "woke" perspective. 

My main takeaway is this: Jennifer Levin was a great lady whose only flaw was that she was attracted to a total and complete loser who only had his looks and literally nothing else going on his life. If he wasn't handsome, no one would have paid this guy one moment of attention. But he was "hot" and for this reason and no other, chicks dug him. Jennifer dug him. And for that she died. 

What's even scarier for me is that this murder happened just blocks away from where I went to elementary school at the time. And it happened right behind one of my favorite places in the who city -- the Met. 

So it was weird watching this series about this horrible crime that happened behind the Met while reading this cheery story about native New Yorkers and their love for the steps at the Met, a place where lots of New Yorkers and visitors like to hang out, make out, talk, and just generally congregate -- a sort of Washington Square Park North. It's a story of literal darkness and light, beauty and horror, the twin identities of NYC.

I've never spent a lot of time on the Met Steps myself but I used to skateboard around them as a kid -- and I remember my mom telling me once, "Oh, it's a big pick up area." 

Good thing I'm married. And not a handsome psychopath (more like an un-handsome neurotic).