New York State of Mind

Looking West from Queens as a storm waits to pounce.

I never wanted to like New York.  My parents, Midwestern and firm believers in small towns, demonized city life to my brother and me.  They both grew up in a town of less than 300 and were positive that nothing good came from exposure to the inherent cynicism that festered in the souls of people condemned to metropolitan life.  Naturally I couldn't wait to shake the hayseed out of my hair and plant myself in urban America.  I've pretty much spent my adult life in cities and been happy in the choice.  City people, for the most part, are no different than rural and small town folk.  They merely live closer together and have a hell of a lot more options when it comes to entertainment venues and opportunities for mischief--a happy situation in my estimation.

I didn't make the acquaintance of New York City until I was in my forties.  Frankly, its reputation as a meat grinder of humanity and cesspool of crime was enough to convince me that my hillbilly ass couldn't handle it.  Like a baseball rookie, I was content to confine myself to the metros I thought I could navigate and save the Big Apple's fastball for those from sturdier stock.  

Then, in 1993 my oldest daughter moved to New York.  Unlike her old man she had the guts to "make it there" so that she could "make it anywhere", and she did.  She and her husband created a theater company, "The Nature Theater of Oklahoma"--the name has something to do with Kafka--and after fifteen or sixteen years of struggle, became Obie Award winning overnight successes.

Every time I'm in New York I wonder why I never gave it a shot.  Radio, like most everything, creates opportunities for those who simply ask.  Like Woody Allen says, "Half of life is merely showing up."

No regrets here.  There is only so much you can get around to doing.  Perhaps if I had spent less time in saloons?

My wife and I are in New York for a couple of days to help us unwind after a trip to Ireland.  Dublin to San Diego is more than we care to attempt in a day; so a New York intermission seemed a good idea.  

The weather is mid July hot and muggy.  A portent of a blistering summer?  Rain storms, high humidity and temperatures in the high eighties make things icky sticky.  We stopped here for a day or two on our way and were treated to clear skies and comfortable temperatures, so this obviously is payback.

This evening we are people watching from a table open to the street in one of our favorite restaurants on East 41st street.  I especially appreciate the women in summer dresses and how they manage to look so cool and fresh.  Maybe it's the fact that they've ditched the omnipresent black duds of winter or it could be that most of them are so young, but they "do" heat much better than the guys.  Men, myself included, whether in shorts or a suit, sport a sheen of grease not unlike grandma's Easter ham.  (Perhaps that explains why we're always roughly a quart low.)

Later, we'll turn in early in order to grab that first Jet Blue flight to San Diego, but for now we let the energy of this city so big "they had to name it twice' seep into our travel weary bones.  It's starting to feel like a second home.

A pigeon takes a break atop George M. Cohan's dome in Times Square.