Say “Excuse Me”
How about in London when you’re looking at the paper and some asshole walks so close to you it crumples sideways and he doesn’t say “excuse me?” Shit, he doesn’t even break his stride. Does he want to die?

New Yorkers always say “excuse me.” They realize that the person they bumped might be a crackhead with a carpet cutter that wants to cut your face from above your eyebrow straight down your chin. Not only should you say “excuse me” if you bump into someone, you should even turn back and put your arms out in a ready kind of “I’m here to stabilize you if you fall” way. This helps emphasize sincerity. It’s not a pussy thing to do this by the way. It’s more like a prison/biker show-of-respect thing that’s actually tougher than blindly walking away.

Alphabet City
Don’t say “Alphabet City.” Nobody says that anymore. Just call it the East Village (south of 14th, north of Houston, and east of, like, 3rd). There’s also the Lower East Side (north of Delancey, south of Houston, and east of, like, Allen). Everywhere else can fuck off (see map).

Fridays and Saturdays Are a Bitch
On Friday and Saturday nights the best bars in New York become the worst bars in Brooklyn and Jersey. All the “Bridge-and-Tunnel” trash comes pouring in with their Banana Republic shirts and their pound of fucking gel in their hair. We’re not being classist, like we hate working-class people. These are stupid sluts with vanilla stripes in their hair and Paris Hilton boots next to goombah dickheads that wear backwards Kangols and want to kick your ass if you don’t have a light. They all make way more money than us.

Anyway, the secret to Friday and Saturday is to go off the beaten path. That means combing the city for the most unpopular bars you can find. If that still isn’t working, you should probably make it a Williamsburg night.

Drugs
Are you kidding me? What do you want, a phone number? The days of walking down the street in New York and being offered drugs are long gone. And even if we did tell you the only way you’re going to get drugs when you’re down here is if you set it up in advance.

P.S.1
Way out in Long Island City (recognize the area? You were there checking out strip clubs last night, you fucking pervert), there’s a public school turned art gallery that features the best artists in the city and has some great people-watching. Every Saturday during the summer, they do these events that are part of a season-long series called Warm-Up. It’s free and you can buy beer and burgers. The only downside is that pissing is a fucking ordeal. If you don’t want to tie a tube to your dick and stand by the dumpsters all day we suggest you go to the top floor of the building and line up a little bit before you feel like you’re going to have to go.
Nobody Cares
Guess what? People in New York are over it. That doesn’t mean they don’t like stuff — it means that they don’t give a shit why they like stuff. Don’t come here and go, “Hey guys, this is a little embarrassing, but I love that Journey song ‘Open Arms’! Total guilty pleasure, right?” We’ll just say, “Big whup. That song’s pretty good. I did it at ‘rokes [karaoke] last week.”

And trust us, nobody gives a shit why you wear what you wear. It either looks good or it looks bad. It doesn’t matter if you think a pair of lime green sweatpants is “hilarious.” They either look like shit (more than likely) or they look amazing (not totally outside the realm of possibilities).