Yuppie parents are the Times' bread and butter. But the paper is finally sticking it to the entitled demographic by running a rant commonly held by blissfully childless adults: hire a sitter if you must go out for a drink, lush moms and dads!
Risa Chubinsky is spot-on in her assessment of screaming, puking tots overrunning city watering holes:
"No matter what breeders might think, bars are not family-friendly...If I go to the bathroom to correct my wayward mascara at the end of a long weekend night, I don’t want to watch a baby being wiped down on the soggy sink counter."
Some sanctimommies even have the nerve to shush and shake their heads at patrons who indulge in bar-appropriate behavior at the expense of little Jayden and Sophia:
"I want to be scolded by parents like the ones at the Gate, a favorite bar, where friends have witnessed a few mothers with toddlers actually wagging their fingers when young people cursed too loudly or got a little sloppy, while conveniently overlooking the fact that alcohol, blaring punk rock and drunken partiers are not pediatrician-approved."
Chubinsky's right! And her article made me wonder what led to this wretched infestation. You've got the smoking ban, which cleared the air for pristine baby lungs. (And also for asthmatics who claim to enter septic shock at the first whiff of cigarette smoke--an ailment which has suddenly become de rigueur alongside other dubious health problems like celiac disease and peanut allergies.) Then there's the gastropub trend, in which bars increasingly class themselves up by serving middling food. (Children, sadly, are allowed in restaurants.) And, of course, the worst trend of all: breeders staying put in the city instead of fleeing to the 'burbs where they belong.
Where can you drink and avoid the demon spawn? Dive bars are a pretty good bet, as are pool halls and strip clubs (pity the lactating stripper if newborns ever invade that inner-sanctum). The many NYC bars that flout the smoking ban are also safe havens. Most importantly, do not go within pacifier-throwing distance of Park Slope.
The only chink in Chubinksy's armor is her foray into another bar foul that no one wants to deal with:
"If I am out drinking and sobbing about a bad breakup, I don’t want my cries to compete with those of an infant sitting next to me."
But I forgive it. After all, nothing less than the survival of bars is at stake. What would happen to New York nightlife if one of its greatest fringe benefits, the drunken hook-up, became endangered?
Because nothing turns you off to sex more than its potential, drooling end result.
(Main Photo Courtesy of NYTimes.com)