Love/Hate

I've had a love-hate relationship with NYC for some time, and it was magnified this weekend. I love seeing the spires rise out of the fog as I drive in; I hate the looming blankness where the twin towers once stood. I have no problem navigating the crowded streets and can even calmly maneuver along the unmarked lanes and pitted pavement of the Cross-Bronx after nightfall, as I did to reach PZ's and Lisa's place on City Island, where I spent Thursday and Friday nights. However, I hate navigating the crowded sidewalks, and I hate the cabbies who always manage to hit the nearest puddle with a WHOOOSH just as I enter the crosswalk, and I hate the van that rear-ended me not two minutes after I exited the tunnel and turned up 8th Avenue. I love being able to view the Dutch Masters, as DZ, Phil, and I did Friday night after having a glass of wine in the balcony of the Met. I hate that the Met now suggests a $20 donation and charges close to double digits for a glass of wine, and that you have to be strip searched just to enter the building. I love grabbing pastrami on rye at the Stage Deli (tho' no one could eat the whole thing alone), or a knish across the street at Lindy's (where a nice woman from Houston asked, "What is that?" and then was so grateful that I took the time to talk to her), and having Turkish meze split three ways on the Upper East Side or cute ravioli stuffed with acorn squash in brown butter at Gabriel's on West 61st. I hate that people who can't possibly live anywhere nearby shop in the ridiculous bigger-than-Wegman's Whole Foods below the new hideous capitalist-pigs-on-display Time Warner building that practically encloses Columbus Circle and is guarded by a phalanx of police.

DZ wondered if I ever want to move back--she thinks about it with fondness from time to time. I don't.

I'll blog a bit about the convention later.

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