Hiya, weekend. I love you so much. I know I never write on the weekends but felt compelled to share this, and I'm not good at waiting until Monday when I have something to say...hope you're having a great weekend and back on Monday with more of my musings...enjoy this little post from the friendly skies. And yes, that is a picture of John Starks. More on that below.
I am writing tfrom the air because I never have time and this is a good a place as any. I’m listening to Joy Division (IPod is on shuffle), drinking a Diet Coke, and thinking about how fortunate I feel to be entering a new phase of my life. It’s a joy to feel confident in what you are doing, even if the road is not yet clear, I have every confidence that it will soon reveal itself, and it’s going to be the best ride yet.
But in other news, I realize what I miss most about New York- besides my beautiful friends, the insane shopping (good insane), and the fabulous food- it’s those moments. Those moments that inspire you to live another day, to engage in another conversation, and to thank the Lord you’re alive. I’m specifically talking about the power of connection in New York- because even before life went social, NYC was a city where you were forced to connect, all day every day. You need to tell your cabbie where you’re headed. You need to ask for coffee at the deli (light and sweet). You exchange knowing glances on the subway about the freak who is singing Taylor Swift songs at the top of their lungs, and that connection is great because it’s totally non verbal and done with the eyes.When I first moved to New York it freaked me out how much people look at you in the city- not just because you have a nice rack but because they're scanning you and vibing with you and trying to see if you're going to change their life in some way. Or else you have a really nice rack, but that's not here nor there. But back to my craving for a good New York moment.
I’ll give you a good example- I got into a cab on Thursday of last week to meet with some friends by Bryant Park for breakfast. My cab driver was a friendly sort, with solid a/c on a ridiculously hot day. I immediately liked him.
We started to chat, and don't ask me how, but we started talking about basketball. Turns out this Indonesian cab driver used to shoot hoops in Indonesia as a boy and moved to America so he could be around the best basketball in the whole world. I’m not kidding- he wanted to move to America and watch all of his favorite teams play (he’s hopeful for the Knicks next season, but who isn’t really) and be surrounded by b ball culture. I found his story incredibly inspiring- he was born a Christian in Indonesia, a largely Muslim country where he often felt like an outsider. But in the States, he has found his happiness, and he and his wife and three year old son are happy as could be. And he takes the wife and kid to watch him play basketball every Sunday, somewhere in Queens. And apparently the 3 year old has a way with the soft ball and hoop my divine cabbie has for him in their living room.
See how much I found out about another human being, who I probably would never have had the chance or good fortune to meet anywhere else. This lovely man and I chatted about every team in the NBA- about how I grew up in Philadelphia in the halcyon days of the 76ers, how I moved to NYC in the early 90s when the Knicks were in their prime and I used to go to the Garden often to watch them play- the days of Patrick Ewing, John Starks (punk that he was), and other cool cats like Anthony Mason. These were fun memories, and it was so much fun to talk about them. His opinion on my latest hometown team, The Heat, was not as fantastic (everybody in New York hates Lebron. Full stop.) It was such an amazing conversation- it made me realize we need more people like my friend in this country- to appreciate it and love it for all its quirks and be happy to chat with a girl like me about basketball as we battled the midtown rush hour. And if you are a creative soul that needs inspiration to fuel your brain, there is no better place than New York- because immediately I can think of a character sketch of the Indonesian cabbie who moved to America because of basketball. Not only did I connect with him through a common appreciation for Dr. J, but I connected with his story and it inspired me to write this. PS my driver coming home the evening of Game 4 of The Heat vs. Dallas was from Dallas, and was gloating big time...sacre bleu).
I miss this kind of connecting- this eagerness to share stories, to voice opinions, to banter back and forth with a complete stranger. And maybe in this age of social media, I crave real connections like this even more. I miss the deadpan humor of the white lab coated counter peeps at Russ and Daughters, where I went with my pal Rebecca and ate my fav sandwich of life, the Super Heeb. The guys (and a few gals) who work there are hilarious. They are of an era of schticky humor, but it’s really all about the delivery, and I for one would pay good money not just for their delicious sandwiches and babka, but also for an evening at a Comedy Club where each of these cats gets 5 minutes.
So as we are waiting in line for our sandwiches at the counter, dreaming of whitefish salad and wasabi roe, the dude next to me, hipster Ray Banned out, orders a lox and bagel with cream cheese (already I myself am judging him as a tourist with his vanilla choice).
The Joey Bishop looking counter guy gave him the once over and asked him, “What flavor cream cheese do you want?” and proceeded to list the amazing options.
The guys said, after much thought, “I think I’ll just have plain”, to which the counter guy, eyebrow raised, simply replied, quietly, “Oh yea?” and bowed his head in disinterest, Ray Bans choice was less than exciting (see it’s not as good when I tell it, but it was amazing).
So much was said in that, as in how can you order plain when you can have so much more, to which Rebecca and I broke up in laughter, knowing we were witnessing a funny moment where a true New York character zings an unsuspecting dude who just likes things a little plain. As a girl who usually speaks my mind and is more than a bit sarcastic, I appreciate all of this beyond belief, and it’s hard to live without. That and when I asked my counter guy why they don’t open a Russ and D in Miami he simply replied, “because Miami sucks”. Alrighty then.
And I guess New Yorkers are the only peeps I feel that real soulful connection with anyway- and that’s the way it will always be. I adore that city more than anything and know that it can be a bitch to live in, but the power of connection trumps everything else in this here human experience, and that’s that. That and the uncanny brilliance of no bullshit- don’t sugercoat my messages, please. If you think Miami, my haircut, or my choice of cream cheese sucks, tell me. Just tell me. Is that too much to ask?
If you live in New York, feel lucky that you get to be around these mad ones all the time. It’s not to be trifled with. If you are not so lucky, I suppose you must make your own connections, with the people that are around you each and every day, who may surprise you with their stories. Because life is all about stories, whether creating your own or listening to someone else’s. And I love in New York, there's just always someone to talk to. And that’s what’s up this connected Saturday in the MIA. Keep in touch, won’t you? (Oh and why would you have plain, when you can have so much more?) XO