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March 15, 2006
The Bigger the Apple, the Sweeter the Fruit
Ah yes. New York City. A hell of a town. Broadway's up, Century 21's down...or something along those lines.
It's been quite a ride being back here, I'll tell you that for free. My days have been spent dodging Fishwife, distributing half-used tins of Crisco, nearly expired prescription drugs and all the illustrious contents of the illustrious gift closet to various associates, and trying to entertain myself without television (bearable) or the Internet (unbearable).
Oh and I did watch Empire Falls.
All of it.
In other news, the packing is going...well, less expeditiously than one might hope. As in, though I will occasionally stare at an old pair of boots and ruminate for about an hour on the possible - nay, probable - return of the square toe, that's about as far as I've gotten. Now wait. That's not true. I've also been on a daunting mission to use up all of my toiletries (you're all invited to come over and floss a deux) and rid myself of stuff that, somewhat mystifyingly, made the move from Manhattan just one short year ago... Must say, it is rather humbling to put a (formerly) precious thing out on the stoop free for the taking and then have to watch it sit there like a flat-chested, halitosis-stricken mathalete at the Snowball Dance. We've all got to let our little ones grow up someday. Just ask my mom. To her unmitigated delight, I am hauling several loads of useless crap back to her cellar tomorrow, where it will sit - unmolested - until that dark day comes when I need my Con Ed bill from West 92nd Street.
Packing. There's a reason why you can hire people to do it for you.
Ah, but the real deal of it all is this: my time here has confirmed what I already knew. My friends are aces. Every last one of 'em. Being back among many of the people who've brought such luminosity to my life, and having the opportunity to recognize the value and impact each of them has had on me - and the loyalty and care with which each of them has treated me - has reconfirmed what I think I already knew: I'm on the right path. There's simply no other explanation for this kind of luck, and for these kind of blessings.
Oh and yes, before I go any further in this vale of tears for fears, I must pause to address a sin of omission perpetrated by me on one of the aforementioned. When I wrote that two separate boys in my life had lived in two separate vans, I apparently forgot to mention that Mike McNamara also lived in a vehicle.
That vehicle?
The Ebola: his beat-up white Camry with the "taxi-driver preferred" beaded seats and the stench of a thousand dead lobsters.
Which was parked in the LIRR parking lot in Huntington.
And filled with half-eaten meatball subs. And mice.
And now has found even more ignominious glory as part of an artificial reef deep in the Atlantic.
But that's neither here nor there.
Mike lived in his car.
And he wants you to know about it.
He also wants to eat Wilson's head.
I don't know which is more alarming.
Now, in a bid to accomplish #7 on my list of NYC "must do's," I "must do" the former co-worker dodge during lunch in Times Square. In the past few days, I've already seen - and avoided - two Edel-alum. Oh dear. Why did I leave my cloak of invisibility in Denver?! What was I thinking?!
Maybe Wilson will let me borrow his hat.
Posted by Bree at March 15, 2006 09:08 AM