the city in which i don't sleep

I have a confession.

I kind of sort of don't really like New York City so much.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that I hate it, per se, but it is definitely not my cup of tea.

I forget this every time I go. And I go a lot. Many of my nearest and dearest friends reside within the boroughs (and in New Jersey) and being able to see people from all walks of my life on the same weekend is a blessing. Every weekend I spend in New York is jam packed full of brunches, bars, subway rides up and down town, and events that aren't quite making it to Boston. I spend lots and lots of money to get there and to enjoy myself there, and for the most part I usually do. But there is always this feeling I have of knowing that I don't belong.

5th Avenue Apple Store insanity, winter 2006. 

I've been to New York exactly eight times. I have gotten there by plane, train, car, and bus (bus is definitely my least favorite of these options, yet unfortunately the most affordable - my 25 cent raise for my summer job doesn't quite upgrade me to train status). My sixth grade trip was a 36 hour whirlwind as the capstone of our immigration project, including a visit to Ellis Island, a viewing of the Lion King, and purchasing of the "Foakleys", those fake Oakley sunglasses that they sell in view of the Statue of Liberty that for some reason was a Nashoba Brooks tradition year after year. Starting college, I made a tradition of visiting New York for New Years, staying at Josh's and engaging in all kinds of ridiculous debauchery. The past two summers, I've voyaged down for warm weather visits. And before all that, there was the introductory family visit.

Cannot believe I'm making this photo public. Do not comment on hideously colored leggings, the fact that they are leggings, the fact that they do not match winter coat, or snaggle tooth. At least my brother's cute.

When I was six, I had my parents to guide me through New York's skyscrapers and chaos. As I grew older, I realized that a certain part of New York's identity as a city appealed immensely to my organizational side. There's something that just makes so much sense about a city organized by numbered and lettered streets, and there's something enticing about bright yellow vehicles (probably synesthesia-related) dotting the wide, bustling roads. If New York existed with about half the population that it currently does, I would probably find no fault with it. But traversing the sidewalks and wandering the subways at any given hour feels like Kenmore Square right before the Red Sox game is about to start, and it's insanity.

I rarely feel unsafe in cities and New York is no exception. However, something about its residents makes me feel unwelcome and like I don't belong. Just walking down the street, I am self-conscious and self-aware, trying hard to blend in and seem like I could be a resident, like I could maybe, possibly live there. I know so many people who either grew up within the city's borders or who live there now and I like to think that we have a lot in common, but there's still a little bit of that small-town girl in me that doesn't quite mesh with the hustle and bustle of New York, even though I'm a real Boston girl now. It's just not my style. Plus I feel like a giant idiot when I emerge from the subway and just cannot get my bearings. I think every single time I came above ground this weekend, I ended up walking one block in the wrong direction. The exit signs to the respective corners should really be better labeled!

That's not to say I didn't enjoy myself though. This past weekend fit in the summer trip category. The primary purpose of the visit was to see the Royal Danish Ballet perform at Lincoln Center on Saturday night with Ariel and Jonelle, two of my fabulous fellow DIS co-alumni of the public health program. We enjoyed the performance of La Sylphide immensely, and especially enjoyed the fact that we could discern the male lead's cheekbones all the way from our fifth ring seats. Those Danes. Nobody even compares.

At least in the past fifteen years I've learned to dress myself somewhat. 

My foray into the cultural side of New York was topped off with a Saturday afternoon visit to the Met to see the Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty exhibit. Surrounded by my fellow Art$ editors, we stuck out the hour-plus line to see the work of the man who met his tragic demise while well on his journey to revising everything that fashion means to anyone. I was truly in awe of the show - extremely well curated and evocative - and would recommend it to anyone, even non-fashion lovers like @Mitchellaneum.

Do-as-you-go fashion. Insanity.

So, I was very cultured, ate very well, and very non-frugal. It was an exciting weekend to spend away from Boston. However, I will probably not ever recover from the shellshocking piece of information that came my way regarding Cash Cab. When discussing my endless desire to make it on to the show, I was informed that there are casting calls and that the show is far from spontaneous. My dreams were shattered. All I wanted was for Ben Bailey to drive my cab! Red Light Challenge, Video Bonus - I would own at that game and we all know it. But alas - it is apparently not meant to be. And now I must accept that Ben Bailey is going to drive his cab all around New York, but not for me.