I HEART NEW YORK

As I write this I am doing one of my favorite things in the whole world. NO! Not that; I don't have enough arms for that. I am sitting in a NYC park and smoking. Ah, the fresh air. The nitcotine. The homeless guy sitting next to me wearing a much better jacket than I. This is home. New York, to me, is the Paris of the United States. It has art, museums, theatre, cafe' au lait, and baguettes. It also happens to have bagels, lox, and the finest pizza on the planet. (There is just no good pizza in Los Angeles, I'm afraid to say.) I'm plopped under a venerable Oak in the heart of Washington Square Park, which boasts a lovely fountain and a triumphant marble arch. (Nice try, Paris.) It, and this city, is fabulous. I'm a shameless fan, which is probably why I abandoned the (literal and metaphorical) flatness of Florida and moved my ass here long ago. Oh, and the other thing about New York that I love: everyone, it seems, smokes. (I swear to you, the toddler on the other side of me just tried to bum a cigarette.)

I'm here on holiday, as they say across The Pond. I haven't had a vacation since I hiked what I lovingly refer to as The Death Trail in the Grand Canyon a decade ago; so, I know that my high opinions of New York are colored by both exhaustion and a lack of international jet-setting stamps in my passport. But I love this city; I truly do. And the people in it, which made this vacation more of a Homecoming than anything. My "family of choice," as Woody Allen or Dr. Phil would say, is here and they welcomed me with open arms. And open bottles of red wine - one of my other favorite things in the whole wide world. The wine here in New York flows, well, like wine; and for the past three days I have been partaking of it heartily. "All the better to see you with," as the Big Bad Wolf used to say. (Sorry, Grandma.)

Ah, and now, the handsome man with the dreads and the 70's throw-back headphones that has been flirting with me has just walked over to ask for a cigarette, his Cockney accent as thick as the anonymous air of romance. (Yet another reason to love both New York and cigarettes. This just wouldn't happen in Wisconsin; though, I do admire its locals' fondness of cheese.)

So, other than flirting with strangers, I have been visiting with friends and family; hob-knobbing at parties; reminding my East Coast manager that I exist; and working, of course, on scripts. I've tried checking e-mail a few times and sending material to my writing partner in Cali; but half of the time I can't get my wireless thingy to work. That's the one annoying thing about technology - sometimes it doesn't work. But, I guess that may be my fault - that I actually expect what I pay for to work as advertised. You know, unhealthy expectations and all that. Go figure. Maybe I'll just ask the handsome Brit for help connecting...

The other thing I've been doing is having sleepovers! Aren't they great? Just like being a kid again. Rather than staying at a hotel, I'm hanging out with my good-hearted girlfriends, like Patience, the fair-skinned beauty. Sitting up all night eating New York take-out (yum); watching bad premieres of the new fall television shows like "The Shark," with James Woods (which they really should have called, "The Big Piece of Warm Doodie"); peeking at the now old-news porn video of Collin Ferrel (and almost getting my eye knocked out; he should really be careful with that thing). I also ran around town during the day and caught up with buddies like Julius (whom I've known since college and could probably blackmail me should he desire); Rasheed; Tara; Kim; and the infamous Mr. Big. We're working on a friendship and it's truly great. (The kissing, while for some a potentially confusing element of frienship, was like icing and sprinkles on top.)

Speaking of sprinkles, driving from JFK airport into the city on my first night in town, I caught a magical glimpse of the skyline. The cab rose on one of the many elevated causeways and the bejeweled towers and bridges peeked out and winked at me. When you're not from New York, that is the image you always have of the city - the skycrapers and bridges sparkling at night from either a great Brooklyn location or some helicopter shot. It reminded me of my very first night living in here, when I had moved to Brooklyn with Cass - who is now my psychic soul-sister. She had taken me up onto the roof for a proper introduction. And a ciagrette, of course. I took the steps two at a time and when the shabby door flew open I nearly cried. I was honestly choked up with emotion because what I saw before me was the exact view of New York that, as an outsider, I had always seen - a spectacular aerial shot of the glittering city. And I was there, in it. When I had this vision again in the taxi, I swear to you, I almost kissed the cabbie.

And now - as an impromptu concert begins in the park (Dixie Jazz, no less!) - I'm about to leave this city. Again. It's making me more than a little sad. But, I'll always have her, like Bogie once said about Paris. She'll always be in my heart, and - through my friends - I'll be in hers. I think that makes me one lucky dog.