Why I love New York

Today: Turkey Day

I get a call from my sister from another mother (and father) to join her and friends at a fabulous apartment on CPW overlooking the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade. I am enjoying that rare moment when Hot 97 and 105 are playing excellent hip hop during the day. Yes – during the day. Its ridiculous. I am doing my best Aliyah moves. Still, I get my shit together and head up north. On my way to the subway, the streets are silent. You can hear a pin drop. Its an E F Hutton moment. I love New York when it reverts to a small town. As I head to the subway, I see Charlie Brown heading down Broadway. How cool is that? Where else can you see the balloons of Barnie and Sponge Bob walking down the avenue like you and I?

I make it to our party, only a few hours late. There is still plenty of lox left but I dare not ask for a nibble. Instead we venture a walk through Central Park. The weather people are wrong once again (thank you) and it is sunny and not too chilly. We witness a touch football game, plenty of ducks and a crowd around the Alice in Wonderland statue. Alas, the Met is not open but it is wrapped like a Christo. (this year’s Gates).The air is crisp. We remark on the beautiful architecture of the Czech Institute, the Ukrainian Institute… I remember hanging out at Hungarian House when I was in high school, but these other two are foreign to me. A large Mocha at Le Pain Quotidien for a quick pick-us-up.

We make it to home base and watch an adorable movie “Me You and Everyone We Know”. Second to visiting my family in the desert, there is no greater sense of warmth and love than to be at a friend’s home, take your shoes off, nap and feel completely embraced.

Eventually the family arrives (and my new long lost blonde sister). I lavish myself in various tubers with sugar (acorn squash, sweet potatoes, yams etc). I am rolling around in joy and Washington state wine. I also meet Danny, one of the coolest guys around. He too deserves his own blog (probably already has one)

I have my last drink 9 hours later at a French bistro that reminds us in every action that they are doing us a service to serve us. I credit my speaking French with getting us a healthy pour, but who knows with the French? I vent about the weather on the cab ride home. Must it really be that cold? Why does God hate me? Everyone who knows me knows my yearly repertoire of bitching about the weather. But. But how could I live anywhere else?

Advertisements

~ by Cybel Martin on November 24, 2005.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: