Here are the 5 Stages of New York Grief:
Denial: “They can’t close CBGBs. That place is an institution!”
Anger: “F*ck those greedy landlords! I mean, I haven’t been there in years. But still!”
Bargaining: “What shows are left? Maybe if we all go to Patti Smith we can save the place.”
Depression: “I can’t even walk down Bowery any more with that hole and the windows papered over.”
Acceptance: “Hey guys, wanna come to my gallery opening at John Varvatos?”

We move on. Unfortunately, Gawker chose the closing of two locations of the normcore bakery Connecticut Muffins in Brooklyn as a chance to smear the entire state in their recent post, “Is There Anything Good From Connecticut?

I’m from Connecticut, Gawker. While my merits are debatable, I will not sit idly by while you employ the I’m-just-asking-the-questions style of BS TV news reporting as an insult. Especially since you say you don’t approve when Glenn Beck does it.

The state is home to many modern developments a gentleman relies upon, whether they’re Stanley Tools, the vacuum cleaner or birth control. Webster’s Dictionary, Pez, the hamburger, lollipops, the whiffle ball, Frisbees, the slap-wrap. Try to imagine rock ’n’ roll without FM radio (first station: WDRC Hartford).

Connecticut’s motto on the state flag translates as, “He who transplants sustains.” So we didn’t grow Mark Twain, but he put down roots here and wrote Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn—the first book composed on the typewriter. Huck Finn’s style impressed Kerouac (temporary CT resident) who wrote On the Road with an Underwood Typewriter (from Hartford). So danced the nimble fingers William Faulkner, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway. (P.s.—We call Mark Twain “Sam” because that’s his goddamn name.)

For those of you at Gawker who swear you’ll write your own stuff when you have the time: Wallace Stevens wrote poems that will break your heart. And he did it while working quite successfully as an insurance executive in Hartford.

But it’s not just male writers. Sam’s neighbor Harriet Beecher Stowe wrote Uncle Tom’s Cabin. According to legend Abe Lincoln greeted her by saying, “So you’re the little woman who wrote the book that started this great war.”

Here’s a story my barber told me when I was a lost teenager and didn’t know what to do in life: During WWII a teenage Martin Luther King came up to work the tobacco fields in my hometown of Simsbury. He wrote his mother letters about how great he felt, “I never thought that a person of my race could eat anywhere but we … ate in one of the finest restaurants in Hartford.” Smile on his face, money in his pocket, he took the train back down south to go to Morehouse College and guess what happened? With monuments to freedom in sight in Washington, D.C., they made him switch to the segregated cars.

After that summer in Connecticut, it was a bitter feeling going back to segregation. It was hard to understand why I could ride wherever I pleased on the train from New York to Washington and then had to change to a Jim Crow car at the nation’s capital in order to continue the trip to Atlanta… The first time I was seated behind a curtain in a dining car, I felt as if the curtain had been dropped on my selfhood. I could never adjust to the separate waiting rooms, separate eating places, separate rest rooms, partly because the separate was always unequal, and partly because the very idea of separation did something to my sense of dignity and self respect.

connecticut-muffinConnecticut muffin: The pastry purveyor at the heart of this crummy mess.

Hey Hamilton Nolan from Florida, who signed off on this post. I had a class in elementary school about the history of the Colt Revolver. Learn anything cool like that in school? It is a gorgeous piece of war-making craftspersonship from Connecticut. My cousin toured Iraq and Afghanistan. When he got homesick he looked down at his m16, stamped “COLT DEFENSE-HARTFORD, CONN.

The state is home to many modern developments a gentleman relies upon, whether they’re Stanley Tools, the vacuum cleaner or birth control. Webster’s Dictionary, Pez, the hamburger, lollipops, the whiffle ball, Frisbees, the slap-wrap. Try to imagine rock ’n’ roll without FM radio (first station: WDRC Hartford).

Maybe you hadn’t heard of these things. I’m not blaming the Florida public school system. My financial investors in Connecticut have a saying, “The spouting whale gets the harpoon.”

We the people of Connecticut make great things. Maybe not muffins, but when was the last time you elected to eat a muffin when you weren’t at a sales conference? Many of these businesses have left Connecticut. We’re OK with that. Connecticut isn’t Silicon Valley, obsessed with the future, or Massachusetts, where they can’t let go of the colonial past.

Connecticut moves from denial to acceptance because this right now is the life you live.

P.s.—I currently reside in Brooklyn, across the street from that now-empty muffin place, and I really hope it becomes a Doughnut Plant.