Old New York vs. New New York

I had the pleasure of walking up Lexington Avenue this afternoon when I spotted a case study in New York City Contrast: It's old versus its new.

In the old corner stands a vintage three-story townhouse. Eats Restaurant and Bar occupies the first floor, and the second and third floor are private residences with beautiful bay windows that seem to splash into the cityscape.

In city defined by modernity, a prominent holdout.

In the New Corner stands the Sienna, a 31-story skyscraper. For $2.6 million, you can buy a condo there. Quite frankly, knowing that the townhouse atop Eats Restaurant is around the corner, someone would have to pay $2.6 million to live in the Sienna. But that's just me.

Then again, the Sienna isn't bad looking--it's just a generic skyscraper. Just a few blocks north of Eats lies what is probably the ugliest addition to a building I've ever seen. Then again, maybe I just don't get around much. Has anybody seen anything worse than this? If so, please share!

Guest submissions are open to find the ugliest building extension ever.

Just across the street from this Frankenbuilding, the contrast continues, and it is a case study as to why some things are better left alone. Vintage coke bottles line the window, Neon Lights advertise the business to pedestrians, and inside, one can sit and a bar stool and order a sandwich. The setting was worthy of Rockwell. Most people just walked on by.

It looks like I found a new place to eat lunch.

It's easy for one to wax poetic about Old New York. A place with open windows instead of air conditioning, and trolleys dominated the streets instead of Toyotas. Where the only two skyscrapers where the Chrysler Building and the Empire State. A different time. Ironically, Manhattan was more populous then--before the construction of Robert Mousing Housing Projects and Donald Trump towers. The population of Manhattan Island stood at 1.96 million in 1950. As of the most recent census, that number stands at 1.58 million.

The past versus the present. I thought about this contrast as I road the subway home. As I contemplated, two young girls were on the way home from school. As the 5 train emerged from its subterraneon tracks to its elevated perch atop Westchester Avenue, their faces lit up like Christmas Trees.

"The zoo!" They exclaimed as they pointed out the window. "The zoo!" They ran to the other side of the subway car, and their jubilation continued. "They lake" they shouted. "The lake!" (Okay, it was actually the Bronx River, but I was in no mood to be pedantic).

Then they broke into song. "Tomorrow, Tomorrow, I'll love you, tomorrow!"

Their young voices harmonized beautifully, as if they had practiced like seasoned professionals. I smiled. Yes, New York has its sepia-toned past. It has the present.

And it has tomorrow.