What I Won't Miss

When I finally croak this is what I won't miss:
Modern dancers falling all over the place as part of the choreography. Foreign films you'd never watch unless you were trying to impress someone.
Abstract paintings looking like they were done during a typhoon.
Charity events for causes that make one nervous.
Three hour lectures by professors on the lack of impact ideas.
Sara Jessica Parker.
The Fringe Festival where writers and actors beg family and friends for money to rent a space for exactly six performances.
Author signings by the Next Big Thing.
Obnoxious film crews dressed worse than the homeless they chase away.
Foreign street vendors with big muscles.
Crazed cyclists, crazed pedestrians, crazed skateboarders.
Parades for every single ethnic group.
Broken water fountains, subway sax men, Bible thumping, ice, suspicious doormen, fast walking women, homeless people with poor posture, wasted napkins, survey takers with clipboards, sales people in upscale boutiques wearing black, screaming traffic cops, Forever 21, crowded Coney Island trains, mingling C-list actors, openings you can't get into, Family Day, yoga in Times Square, cheap socks at flea markets, all those Christmas tree lighting events, unkempt, possibly diseased young people holding free Hugs signs.
I WILL miss the sound of my voice.