to build a steel-and-cast-iron gate in front of her building, so unfathomably rowdy the tourists have become.Call it “Sex” and the NIMBY.In an application to the Landmark Preservation Committee, outraged landlord Barbara Lorber — for whom Manolo Blahnik is a four-letter word — argued that “at any given hour of the day or night, there are groups of visitors in front of the house taking flash photos, engaging in loud chatter, posting on social media, or just celebrating the moment.”Imagine.
People excitedly talking on the street. In Manhattan. That’s practically a war crime.Worst of all — are you sitting down? — happy HBOers often sit on the iconic stairs of 66 Perry Street to snap pics pretending to be Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie, defying the owner’s attempt to create a fenced-in subdivision with her existing “no trespassing” chain.
Sometimes, if fans are a bit buzzed, they’ll even ring the doorbell.Lock ‘em up!The city approved Lorber’s wildly overdramatic request for a barrier because the five borough’s biggest threat today is free-spending, grown women in tutus.Sorry, but I’m feeling about as sympathetic as a Soho House desk host.Stop by Chez Johnny sometime, Barb, for four flights of stairs and a WayFair couch that I could swear was blue once.Every evening without fail, some schlub is dining on my East Village steps like he’s at an al fresco Denny’s.
Later on, blotto NYU kids incomprehensibly scream until they’re red in the face at 4 a.m. when the last pubs are padlocked. FedEx buzzes me from dawn til dusk to accept absent tenants’ packages.
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