The New York City Skyline
I walked home from 34th Street last night. It was nearing midnight. Cabs were all occupied. It was clear and cold. A frigid wind was gusting out of the north. The moon was waning. And the New York City skyline was shimmering.
It’s so great to be back in the world, to be out the hermetically sealed cocoon of the rent-a-Taurus. It’s great to walk again, to step through puddles and over broken glass, to cheat death crossing the street inches from a passing truck. It’s great to see people on the street — diverse peoples — and to nod and walk on. It’s comforting to be one of the eight million Manhattanites just making do, just getting by, just keeping warm.
Last night was the annual MTV Networks holiday party, my eighth. It’s always an oversized affair of middle-shelf booze, go-go dancers, and drunken coworkers. There was once a live penguin, and another year an erupting volcano. The times call for a more-subdued affair now, but MTV likes its decadence. And decadent it was. Still, after three weeks on the road, I was done after my first shot (“Benjamin Wagner, do this fucking shot,” p.a. extraordinaire Renatta Sellitti commanded). And so I did, and then promptly walked home.
I woke early this morning, straightened up my tour-strewn apartment, and went running. I was surprised to find Central Park completely naked. When I left in mid-November, the leaves were fiery reds and yellows. Now, they are but sleeping, gigantic skeletons.
And so it will be a weekend off, a weekend of rest. I’m going to lay low, to recuperate. I’m going to eat well, and do nothing. Or close to nothing. I hope to watch ‘Angels In America’ in preparation for Sunday night’s ‘Millennium Approaches.’ I hope to visit Ethan. And I hope to get on with holiday shopping. There’s much to do, all of which adds up to being a homebody. I can’t hardly wait.