I am experiencing an "Empire State of Mind". Skyscraping grandeur and population choked streets fill my thoughts, smeared with cabs and clothing I can't afford. However cliche this soundtrack may be to those who have visited, I know New York City only as Jay-Z and Alicia Keys collaboratively suggest.
My closest encounter with the Big Apple was secured from a safe distance in d.c. as I wishfully intercepted its urban energies. But at last in the new year, we shall meet, preferably in Central Park, scarf swaddled and holding hands with a handsome.....dream.
Speaking of dreams, I'll be a few months too late for participating in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade as I've long desired. If my d.c. address becomes a permanent one, I will make it happen. Either way, Miracle on 34th Street will soon be in my DVD player.
New York, your glamour is irresistible. Yet I sustain a reservation or two about your reputation. Hollywood's promises to the starry-eyed female journalist are peddled by nearly all attractive co-stars of Matthew Mccounaughey. Do your streets really steam when back lit by a couple in love? Do your columnists muse over fire escapes and at trendy sidewalk eateries? OK then.
Soho, Greenwich village, Times Square, Lady Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, street vendor hot dogs, dance schools and book stores. Meg Ryan, I am just as dwarfed in this city as your little Shop Around the Corner.
We will maintain our respective differences, New York and I. After all, I'm still getting used to the idea of musicals. And fielding unusual and at times inappropriate remarks from strangers still makes me blush. I own a Yankees hat and am not a fan. But I could be? I really don't watch baseball on T.V. But I do know about Derek Jeter....
Will your concrete streets make me feel brand new? Will your big lights inspire me? I have reason to think so.
