I Want To Wake Up In A City That Never Sleeps...

"And me, I still believe in paradise. But now at least I know it's not some place you can look for, 'cause it's not where you go. It's how you feel for a moment in your life when you're a part of something, and if you find that moment...it lasts forever..."

-Alex Garland, The Beach.


I just had, indisputably, the most epic New York City week I have had in a very long time. And by epic, I mean great- just great. One of those weeks that kind of makes you just stop, take the crisp autumn air into the deepest part of your lungs and breathe it back into the air with utmost respect for whatever forces are creating this thing around us that we call the world, and of course, utmost respect for whatever forces chose to place me in it. The kind of breath that causes all resentment, all regrets, all anguish, all sadness to just melt away from the layers of your skin like hot candle wax sliding through your loose fingers. I picture it is red candle wax. I picture it vanishes when it drips to the floor. I picture it peels off of the inside of my knuckles easily, like banana strings. It is a seething and soaring, magnificent feeling.

It began on Monday. My cousin, James, and his friend, Lee, arrived in New York from London, Heathrow airport late Sunday night. A long anticipated visit, as I had not seen my British cousin in about 4 years. Aside from just being fun, I realized that the boys' visit served several much needed purposes for me: the rebirth of my larynx and it's ability to withstand hours of uncontrollable laughter, the revival of the person hidden inside of me that enjoys being constantly surrounded with entertaining and engaging people and of course, the reuniting of me, with my city.

The uncontrollable laughter came from having the opportunity to hang out with a couple of Brits for hours on end- their language, their accents, their views on the world- all unique from my own and highly entertaining. From Lee and James' sheer city "greenness", gaining cheap thrills from examining other people in their apartments from my living room window, to Lee singing his own rendition of Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York" at the top of his lungs, while showering- it was truly a soul warming experience. The laughter came easy and true and flowed through my veins like medicine. They mocked me, in a brotherly kind of way, commenting on the ease for which I let chuckles escapes my lips- but what they didn't know was that it hadn't always been like that these days. I admit, in overview, that I may have laughed too often, at things that were hardly as funny as my aching belly indicated, but it became something different. You see, I was not only laughing at the actual humorous events that were taking place, my laughter sustained long after the moment remained funny because I was so happy to be feeling my throat vibrating again, so happy to feel my belly aching in that way again, so happy that I was laughing simply because the of the happiness that I had found in the ability to laugh at such simple things again. It was truly intoxicating.

"I want to visit an authentic American diner!" were the first words out of Lee's mouth on Monday morning (okay, afternoon) when I woke up. He had something with soda fountains and roller skates imagined- but he settled for all I knew around here- Duke's. It is the kind of place that has dented license plates from every state nailed to the walls, colorful plastic booths and shiny metal plated tables, college team flags taped to the ceiling, empty BBQ sauce bottles decorating shelving units, and an old 50's style 7UP machine in the corner. We gorged on burgers and mac and Cheese and pigs in blankets, washed it down with pints of Blue Moon beer and lay across the plastic surfaces in stomach- expanded pain. Blissful pain. That night we met up with Greg after work and continued the indulgence- "American indulgence"- they called it, with loaded nachos and more beer at a local watering hole known for its long dark wooded bar and expansive flat screens. Perched on our bar stools we talked football and life-it felt like I wasn't just dreaming that I was living anymore.

Before I knew it we were speeding across town in a yellow taxicab, the wind blowing my hair back- the store fronts, restaurants and bars speeding past my eyes the way they only can when in a New York City taxicab. I wanted to suck them all in like wet noodles through saucy lips. We were on our way to the West Village to meet up with my sister at her local watering hole - it was late enough that we probably should not have been venturing to another part of town on a week night but early enough that Greg could dismiss thoughts of his morning commute for another hour while I could put off stressing about the interview I had the following day at 3:00. We were living for the moment, and it felt damn good.

I recognized the bar as soon as we got there, although i had never been there with my sister, never connected the two. It was a bar I frequented in the days of my summer internship at a popular glossy lifestyle magazine, the days when I hung out with the much older, mostly male, editorial staff because they made me feel more alive than I had ever felt. This bar, this street, was the birthplace of my first taste of a love affair with New York City. I was nineteen when i first came here- more ripe than a red peach, more naive than a virgin and more in love with life than I have ever - and probably will ever be. It was such a passionate time- I was doing what I loved, living alone for the first time in my life, meeting new people on my own for the first time in my life - without the common bonds of high school classes or college dormitories- this was living. So naturally, i felt alive the moment we arrived.

My sister- beautiful but tainted, fragile but unbreakable, restless and poetic, met us in the street- cigaretted finger, waving. She looked glorious, flushed and happy. My heart soared. We hugged and danced and smoked and drank and loved all night long. The bar was mostly empty, except for a few nerdy but village-esque-cool looking types milling about in the dark corner of the back on the bar, and my sister- straight backed and casual, in the center of them-glowing. They were all writers of some sort, not originally from New York, but bound to it because it had become them. Their roots had sprouted long ago, the moment they set foot on the island, not by choice, but by chance. The roots were now long and poisonous looking, stretching into the earth like mangled tentacles- because in truth, before anyone chooses New York, it chooses them. It's a love/ hate relationship that travels in the same vein as ex-sex, cigarette smoking and cocaine addiction. It corrupts you a little bit every day, but when it's good-oh man, it's soooo good. If you try to stay away, it will always draw you back again, somehow.

These were my people. I felt it. In a lot of ways, no. I usually wear eye makeup when i leave the house, enjoy getting dressed up in designer duds on a Saturday night and read gossip columns like it's my job- all personal characteristics I'm pretty sure you would never find any of their girlfriends possessing- but it felt realer than anything had in a long time. We talked literature and editing and life- but not in any sort of superficial way. They asked me questions and waited to hear the answers. They prodded me for answers even. They picked my brain, and let me pick theirs. They had executive jobs, or none at all, they didn't have computers or only communicated by computer- they were everything i needed that night.

I left drunk, and happy and feeling almost as in love with the city as I had that summer, the summer i was nineteen, the summer i followed around a handsome 34 year old man who often wore the same clothes to work that he wore the night before, who got me into every bar sans-fake ID , who confused me with his constant trips to the toilet stall for a "fix", who bought me a dozen back to back plays on the jukebox of Eddie's Money's "Take Me Home Tonight" and talked to me on street corners, three inches from my face.

I flew home in the taxicab that night with thoughts of infinity in my head.

The next day, I woke earlier than usual, nursing a half-hangover and preparing for my interview at a big publishing company. This is it, i thought, grabbing my pseudo-briefcase and buttoning my suit jacket. I still felt invincible. Then I got there.

Still car sick from the cab ride I arrived sweaty and nauseous, greeted by an obnoxious receptionist and was told to fill out an application. I just wasn't prepared for this. Nor was i prepared for the mechanical, robotic-like interview with a characterless HR person. She asked me questions that all seemed to require the same answer, and i felt the sweat collecting in my armpit crevice by the second, dripping down my side and soaking the top of my Spanx (which were suffocating me, but very necessary in my only clean suit-since the past few months of pretty intentional weight gain had altered my size a bit). I do well in the kind of interviews where my future employer is talking to me, conversational style. The kind of interviews where my personality can pop out through the haze of skill listing and hypothetical situation analyzing. This insipid HR woman, was NOT having it.

I practically ran out, stripping off my suit coat and wishing i wore a tank top underneath. The day was gray in an October kind of way, non-oppressive, non-depressive, just in a slightly cool and slightly brooding type of way. Unfamiliar with the part of the West Village that I was in, and unable to see any cabs with a yellow light aglow, i walked. I wanted to anyway. I would have walked to whole way home if i weren't wearing sling back heels. It felt good. I explored the surrounding side streets, coming upon a brownstone lined, cobblestone, twisty type street- it was picturesque in the delightful gloom. The architecture of the buildings outlined the scene, and i noticed, on this street, for the first time this year- the changing of leaves from green to orange and yellow and brown. Felt them crunching under my feet, saw them falling at the most pristine moments. I could have walked into a fairytale, or the scene of a romantic movie. I was pensive, yet, not unhappy. I was discovering something new in my city, I was accepting my defeat, gracefully. I was wishing someone were with me to see this perfect New York City scene. I was happy to enjoy it in the silence of myself. I was just happy to have fallen upon it, to let it fall upon me.

Back at my apartment I lay in pajama-ed bliss on the air mattress I had brought out for my cousin to sleep on- contemplating my next step. I had some anxiety, but not enough to ruin the moment I was having with the throes of life as a twenty-something. The boys came home after site-seeing a bit- ready to cheer me up and help exercise that laughing muscle again. We lounged around, in a way I have not lounged since my favorite afternoons in college- talking of nothing and everything over and over again. We had Thai food that night - my adult comfort food- since I just can't get mom's mashed potatoes right for myself. Then I sucked back my urge to be sluggish and tired, the urge to stay home and watch re-runs of Jon and Kate Plus 8. i threw on jeans and a t-shirt and set out to show the boys a good night. They wanted to see The Village, the part of Manhattan that their British friends that had come to visit talked about. Luckily, i knew that part well.

The corner of Bleecker and MacDougal, the birthplace of Bohemia- a surging atmosphere of artists and tourist, college kids and poets- a corner that feels more New York to me than most. You can almost feel something surging through your veins there it's so musically, poetically, drunkenly electric. I lived on Bleecker Street between Thompson and Sullivan the summer of 2006. Greg and I had a dark, tiny studio apartment with tiled floors, stucco walls and a mice infestation problem. You could hear them scampering across the floors at night while you lay in bed trying to sleep, could hear them scratching the wall, begging to get in, could see their creepy little tails twitching underneath the refrigerator. At night, while we fell asleep, the sounds of the street below turned into an electric lullaby for us - yelling, laughing, drunken catcalls, comedy club advertisers drawing in customers, the vibrations of live music, the ticks of the ancient building we called home for such a short period of time. You could hardly leave home or come home without craving a beer, a dark bar and a good time. This i where I took the Brits.

We bar hopped all night, drinking nothing but Blue Moons and licorice-flavored shots that burned as they slid down your throat. We sat at bars, stooled tables, on plush velvet couches, on the sides of pool tables. We watched soccer games on big screens, played Foosball, watched flip cup tournaments, swayed to the sounds of a live band covering David Gray songs, we danced, we shouted, we brooded over karaoke song lists, we made friends with random people, we drank more beers, took more shots, took lots of pictures, made lots of memories. We went home at 3:30 A.M., the air was damp, threatening rain that had been spitting on us all night, the air felt heavy - not only with moisture but with hopefulness.... because I was a part of something, i was a part of this city, i was a part of a family that included my fabulous heart-warming cousin, i was a part of a friendship, i was a part of this world. It was like someone had woken me from a dream. The haze cleared, so to speak.

James and Lee left on Thursday morning, and I reluctantly bid them adieu- although I had some reading to catch up on. I basked in my rainy day alone-ness- cleaning the house, doing the laundry, reading my book, catching up on missed television, until a call from some old high school friends that had just moved down the street came through at 4:00- did i want to go to happy hour? Well, I had a load of laundry in and was deep in the throes of Oprah so I would have to finish all of those things first. Eventually, I made it down to their new apartment which they had gone back to in order to recharge their batteries- so to speak- and play video games. It was a lovely evening of trekking through the puddled, drippy streets in flips-flops and a sweatshirt (is it weird that i kind of like the feeling of being huddled under an umbrella- reminiscent of the rainy day-forts i made with tarps and rock boulders on the beach as a child?), lounging on their old couch, drinking glasses full of Jim Beam and Coke, just catching up on old times, new times, and everything in between.

Do you have those kind of friends that can make you just slip back into a person you used to be, and always liked, but can't always find anymore? That's what these friends are to me. We met when we were young, middle schoolers- ten, maybe eleven years old? We have seen each other through some of the best times in our lives and some of the rockiest times in our lives. We have seen each other acne faced and gangly, shy and awkward, wasted and ugly and felt the same way about each other through the skin glowing, beautiful and confident times. We have traveled together, grown up together, explored life together. They not only make me remember the place I came from, but they help me remember the person I grew from. It is a special gift to still have them in my life. Sometimes, better than any night out on the town is just an evening, wasting time in their presence. There doesn't have to be any particularly stimulating conversation, or even any conversation at all- it is simply enough to exist in their company for it feel like I am alive.

I left them in the pouring rain on the street corner below their new apartment, they were buying umbrella's to walk to a bar and I was heading home to settle in for the evening on my couch with Greg- another one of those irresistibly sacred pastimes. I felt flushed from the warmth of the Jim Beam & a little buzzed, just enough to almost have gone without the umbrella. We exchanged kisses and "love yous" like we had a million times before, like we were all stitches of thread in the same old shirt, now thinned and worn, but still an old faithful favorite. I walked home in the sideways rain, the wind forcing my umbrella inside out, my flip-flopped feet soaking in seemingly bottomless dirty puddles, feeling- well, warm inside. A part of something. Nothing was stealing my moment.

Needless to say, my stormy night in with Greg was one of our much-needed, intertwined on the couch, endless conversation / love, Grey's Anatomy obsessing kind of nights. We had a blissful, dreamless, sleep full night and awoke to a perfect lazy Saturday- it was still gray and rainy (i was loving it!) ans the clouds in the sky moved across the Chrysler building like a work of art, sometimes fully shadowing it, and others times floating in strips as in a Batman movie. We snuggled in and discussed the plans for laundry and reading and movies-discussing tentative plans like the day would go on forever. We ended up in Union Square, with Amanda- my favorite third wheel- walking the rainy streets in search of the perfect Halloween costume and waiting for the movie "Across the Universe" to start.

Okay, lets just say, the movie was amazing. I could spend half this blog analyzing it- but I'll spare you. Just go see it. It was simply the icing on the proverbial cake for the splendid New York City week of spectacular moments. Before that, we just wandered the streets, talking, laughing, strolling. Wearing nothing but Solow pants, Uggs and a North Face (my college uniform) I felt once again, the need to just stop, take in a deep breath and remember what it feels like to be happy to be alive. The streets were puddled and the people were damp and I was feeling kind of sweaty in my fleece, but nothing could really bother me- not even Greg silently complaining for food with his grumpy pout as he dragged his heels beside me. It was the perfect New York City afternoon - we even rode the Subway! A rarity for me, I have to admit. It felt very New York. Just strolling the city with my boyfriend and my best friend, no thick agenda weighing us down- only the possibilities for what the Halloweeny night ahead would hold. One dark theatre, one Blue Moon at an Irish Pub and a few costume stores later, Amanda and I were curling our hair & gluing on false eyelashes, getting ready for a night on the town as gangster girls. A far cry from my night with the writers in the West Village- but still, well- Me.

Anyway, I could go on and on- because really, the moments go on an on. But I just realized, hey, this stuff probably is not THAT interesting to read about and I need to get to the point. Remember my first post- when I say that being seventeen, driving in the car with the right song playing is the closest to infinite you are ever going to feel? Well I still think that, only I also believe that if you pause to smell the cliche roses every now and again you might be able to find the moment of paradise that the infinite feeling once created.

I felt a little infinite this week,but mostly, i felt a lot grateful for the things, the people and the places that weave together to form the fabric of my life. I don't know if this feeling will last forver, but what I do know for sure is that Alex Garland was on to something- paradise is not a place you look for. It doesen't have to have sandy white beaches or swaying palm trees, nor do you need a steel drum band to complete it (althought those things can help! HA). Really, some good friends, some good feeling, and a good 'ol New York City street will do just fine.

and when you find the moment when all of those things collide, when you realize, no matter how big or small- you are a part of something- you have carved out your own little slice of paradise... i think it really might last forever.

...if only in your mind.