New York Moments Abound

I went to this phenomenal little tea shop on bleeker and bought a quarter pound of green, chai and chamomile. Then I walked by a street down the street owned by an old italian guy who sells stylish imported jeans to cheap while smoking in the store and closing too early each day. A going out of business sign was in the window and even though it was only six he was already closed. As I peered in the window, two middle aged men ambled by and tried the door. The girl who was closing up shook her head and waved them on but one of them knocked again with a persistence that screams new york. She opened the door and stammered an apology, sorry guys we're closed for the day...C'mon lady, we all wanna buy and the night is young. A wolfish grin played across his face and light snow flakes began to fall all around us. This is what my friend Saridha refers to as a New York moments. One of those times when you just feel a zen-like oneness with the city. Usually they are characterized by things that could only happen in New York. It was just the heady cocktail of arrogant self-centered new yorkers in the village interacting with hoplessly eccentric shopkeepers as snow falls and taxis jockey for position in the background.

Inside, I thumbed through their delightful rack of underpriced denim until Jake called and asked me to meet him in the meatpacking district at the Fatty Crab to meet some old friends and make some new ones. When I arrived, Erica, a wonderful old soul and a fabulous young stage actor, was behind the bar with a warm smile and a hello so comfortable I felt like she grew up next door to me.
"Want to hear a cool story?" I asked her.
"Absolutely."
I launch right in: When I graduated from college, my friend Virgil gave me an old broken pocket watch as a graduation present. He said it was like a metaphor for my life. It had a fine exterior but was tarnished with imperfection and it had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair. For it to be able to tell time again, the watch would need to be repaired. Further, to keep telling time it would need to be would each and every day. It's a lot like life Teddy, you need to pay constant attention and put time and effort into it each day. If you do that, it will tell perfect time. The watch was old and antique looking. It's metal body was stained with age and the crystal face was so old you could barely see through it. I put it with some of the other trinkets that I've saved over the years and largely forgot about it. I took those trinkets with me to Iraq as reminders of different people and places that have figured prominently in my life and every once and a while, at the end of really hard days, I would take everything out and hold each item in my hand and just remember. Iraq was a dark time in my life and when I came home I was just happy to still be breathing. I put the bag of trinkets at the bottom of a deep box and largely forgot about it. It took me a long time to come to terms with things I saw over there and in some ways I still haven't but about a month ago I was going through my things and came across the bag. Memories flooded back and a weird combination of bile and relief flooded through me. When I got to the watch I decided it was time to get it working so I put it in my pocket and walked to the train to Manhattan. In the city I walked to this old jewish watch repairman. He remarked that it would probably take a bit of work but that it would be a fine watch when he was done with it. I gave him a twenty dollar deposit and left it with him. He called last wednesday to let me know that my watch was ready. That evening, Harvard Business School called to let me know that I'd been accepted into their MBA program for the fall.

After I finish the story I take a long pull from my PBR and Erica walks around the bar and engulfs me in a hug.
"I'm glad you got your watch working again."
Jake materializes behind me and we are all soon laughing and telling boisterous stories. Pretty much everyone at the bar are either friends or friends of friends so the conversation is open to all. Soon we are pulling on gloves and scarves to head back to Hoboken. The snow is swirling around in flurries now and a light breeze tickles my face. Back home at our loft in Hoboken, Jake and I prepare a traditional french meal of potatoe salad, a hearty vegetable soup and a roast chicken with asparagus spears on the side. We drink a b0ttle of chardonnay and talk about stepping up our efforts with Aottilo. It's almost eleven and I should be getting to bed but instead we decide to go back into the city because the Shins are playing a free show at the Virgin store in Union Square. We arrive shortly after midnight to a sea of beautiful young people crowded against the door. Somehow in our tipsy wine enhanced state, the line can't seem to thwart us and the stocky man turning people away from the door has no sway. We slip though and are on a balcony reserved for people who arrived early and bought a CD. The throng of teenage enthusiasts that surround us is young and vibrant and has a rebellious, challenging energy that I can only envy and love. We lean back and enjoy the spectacle and then head back to the Path for home, stopping at a little bistro called the French Roast and have a glass of beer before retiring for the evening.