Suburban and rural types tend to use landmarks (“it’s across from the big glowing fiberglass chicken” or “you know, the one in the plaza near the library”) and really, really rural people use mile markers and highway numbers.
Everyone who comes from a really large city does it (and lots of people from smaller cities). But I realized, it’s not a NYC thing, it’s an urban thing. And it is totally confusing to anyone not from NYC. “_on_” formula to explain where things are located (“that little café on Bleeker” for example). The narrator of the book, and most of the other characters continually use the She keeps making these generalized statements about “New York” girls, when she means “Filthy Rich Upper East Side Princesses”. The narrator, who is a complete idiot, is the smart, well read, one who has lived in other places (although her observations about the difference between American high society and English high society are pretty funny). The book is also one of those annoying NYC centric ones, where the characters are so clueless about anywhere else it’s a bit frightening. Any book that can make me smile so often and even laugh out loud I have to give (fairly) high marks. However, I admit it-I was widely smiling by page 30 when the topic turned to "Brazilians" (note, not referring to natives of a certain Latin American country) and the book induced in me hysterical laughter (as in hard-to-stop tears-from-my-eyes kind) over a certain book club scene. There are even some nice guys-but even if their manner is informal or their shirts frayed they all turn out to be heirs underneath. Indeed, our heroine is actually a brunette and someone who seems rather ditzy for a supposedly Princeton University graduate and who breezily tells of her adventures with men she dates who turn into brutes as soon as they are engaged, are secretly married, or always-soon-to-be divorced Lotharios.
The blonde not being the unnamed first person narrator but her best friend Julie Bergdorf, an heiress who makes me think more of Paris Hilton than Grace Kelly. Who knew that a crosstown bus to the East Side could take me into a land more foreign than any overseas? One in which I doubt I have the right passport, but that's OK, because I have Plum Sykes, described as a "contributing editor of Vogue where she writes on fashion, society, and Hollywood" to take me into the exotic country of Park Avenue Princesses and Bergdorf Blondes. One where "all anyone.ever says is everything's fabulous" and "everyone.takes calls from their beauty experts at social occasions" and waxes the inside of their noses and where "PJ is the quick NY way" of saying private jet. This is set in a New York City I've never known-and I'm a native. Show More on the list, was actually listed by a friend as one of three chicklit books that didn't "suck" and was "fun." I wasn't sure I'd find it fun in the first few dozen pages.
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