At Least We’ll Leave Before We Have To Go
"New York is all about what could be," says David Cloyd, a 34-year-old musician who moved to the city from Austin ten years ago. "You know: The potential. The possibilities."
New York Magazine is the source of Mr. Cloyd's quote, at least partially responsible for my sense of urban, upwardly-mobile aspiration. The Intelligencer's cocktail party talking points, "Party Lines'" glossy pics of soirees I'll never attend, and the pages-upon-pages of million-dollar, high-rise, smoked-glass condos I'll never be able to afford.
It's the degrees ...
Eighteen (More) Reasons To Love Her
I figure it takes a special kind of someone to wake up at 5:30 on a perfectly good Saturday morning, lace up the Asics, and run around the city for three hours. The really special someone, though, is the teammate who runs it with you.
Yup, that was Abbi and me this weekend.
Increasingly bored with endless loops around Central Park, I was itching to get off the island. I studied Google Maps and Map My Run, and drafted a suitably ambitious foray into Brooklyn. Not too far into Brooklyn, mind you; my intended course to and around ...
Into The Arms Of America
Ok, so here's the quandary.
I love New York City, but thirteen years later, the place is killin' me.
I don't just mean the fumes, shadows or concrete. And it's more than the pace, noise, and frenzy. I'm talkin' about politics, aspiration -- the whole ladder climbing thing.
A few weeks ago, a younger friend and I were sipping homemade margaritas from the thirtieth floor sun terrace of Abbi and my building. All of Midtown was splayed out below us. We were a little buzzed.
"Man," he said, "You've made it."
"I dunno' about ...
The Rock & Roll Husband
I distinctly recall standing next to Abbi in Brooklyn, staring way down Flatbush Avenue towards downtown Manhattan. We were testing the waters together, trying to find a neighborhood in which to move. The process, though, was pushing some other buttons.
"But it's so far away!" I whined.
Later, on the subway, I articulated what I was going through only slightly better.
"This is about who I am, what I’m worth, and what it all means," I said.
For some reason, I just couldn't imagine how I was going to do it all: hold down a ...
What Happens On The Upper East Side…
Yes, that's Ashton Kutcher with his arm around my wife.
I should've seen the signs: her new Kabalah bracelet, "The Butterfly Affect" in our Netflix queue, "Punk'd" on TiVo. And she's been wearing a lot of leapard prints.
If only I weren't at the office all day, then in the edit all night. If only I were taller, and had more facial hair. And more money.
Oh well, at least he's a nice boy from Iowa. And we do both wear baseball caps.
I kid, of course.
While Chris and I were editing "Mister Rogers & Me," Abbi was enjoying a ...
The Wonder That’s Keeping The Stars Apart
It was fairly apparent fairly quickly that Abbi and I had something special together.
Above all, our relationship was low-key, well-paced, and light on drama. It wasn't (and isn't) all sunsets, walks in the park, long runs, and bouquets flowers (though there was all that). There was (and remains) a healthy dose of constructive narrative tension. But it evolved naturally. It was obvious; It just felt right. Most importantly, there was laughter, and lots of it.
Even before we got engaged, we tended towards some of those wedding shows. ...
The NyQuil Weekend
We took the day off, reserved the rental car, packed the ski pants, and even MapQuested the route. But alas, it was not to be.
You'll recall that Abbi and I were planning on spending the weekend in Vermont with Chris and Meg Abad. We were going to ski by day, play beer pong at night, and even squeeze in a quick recording (well, Chris and I were).
Unfortunately, Abbigail was sick with the flu all week. As our Friday morning departure approached, it became abundantly clear that snow, beer pong, and late nights weren't gonna cut ...
Self Cleaning
I walk in the door, put down my keys, and start flipping through the mail: New York, New Yorker, Con Ed. Abbi emerges from the kitchen, kisses me, and collapses into my arms.
"The first day back from vacation always sucks," I whisper into her ear.
"It's not that," she says looking up at me and grinning. "I'm starving, and I don't know what to cook."
She pauses.
"So we're having chicken."
I follow her into the kitchen where two breasts lay marinating in a shallow bowl.
"It smells weird in here," I say. "Is there a gas ...
Shaking All The Nonsense Out
It took some convincing to get noted author, activist, singer/songwriter and mystic Bo Lozoff to preside over Abbigail and my wedding ceremony.
In addition to his 200+ days on the road speaking in prisons, schools and churches on behalf of his Human Kindness Organizations' Prison-Ashram Project, Bo co-manages the affairs of his organization with his wife, corresponds with hundreds of prisoners and scholars alike, publishes a monthly newsletter, writes songs and releases records, and somehow finds the time to meditate twice daily and ...
Let’s Go Somewhere Else
My first inclination was to hail a cab.
According to my Apple Dashboard weather widget, it was fourteen degrees when I stepped through the revolving doors of 1515 Broadway into Times Square.
I live just over a mile from my office. It takes me roughly twenty minutes to walk west on 45th, then north on Tenth to 56th Street. Most evenings, it's a welcome respite. Tonight, though, it was a trek worthy of Sir Edmund Hillary.
February in New York City, you see, is positively hostile.
The wind is bone dry, and tears through layers. ...
