:: Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swinger's Club ::

:: Monday, February 23, 2004 ::

my first time

Today I will tell you how I, an innocent man from the blue-filled skies of the West, first confronted New York City. So as I'm contemplating how to best tell the world about the story of me, I go to that library of experience - the coffee shop. I sit there on an uncomfortable wooden chair, as one does, as many do under a variety of circumstances, some of whom are not trying to figure out the story of their first night in New York City.

I want to remember the feelings, the impressions of another person, with whom I have memory continuity: me about to begin my career in law, my first night in New York after an eternity in California and six hours on an airplane. I had visited here twice before, but residing in New York is quite different from visiting it. This time it was for keeps. I didn't really take a good look at New York until I got out of the taxi at my building and had to handle things on a human scale. Until then, it was just looking out of windows and seeing Californians in the wrong costumes and without the tans.

I didn't have a lot of baggage, as I often tend to spontaneously throw things into a suitcase, and I was going to just buy some other things that weren't worth bringing. The lobby was pretty desolate and there wasn't much going on as I had arrived at roughly 9 o'clock in the evening. But I just took my bags and checked in with the officer on duty. I was shown my bivouac on the 18th floor - the top floor. The view was inspiring. I could see the Empire State Building lit up in patriotic red, white and blue, the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges, the Chrysler Building and hundreds of other structures lit up in colors ranging from one end of the spectrum to the other through the panoramic window in the living room. Then I had to decide whether it was more exciting to stumble around town, or just stay in my room. Because nothing like that room had quite happened to me before, either.

Although San Francisco, where I had moved from, was not rural by any imaginable standard, it was quiet as far as big cities go. When things were happening, you took it personally; you were involved or investigating. People respected your space. New York, as you may have heard, is not like that. It's in your grill no matter what. You don't forget you're here. It's like The Force - omnipresent. I sat on the bed, with my bags on the floor and the light off, and I listened to the shrieks and screeches from the street below. I listened to the pounding up and down the hallway. I listened to more ambulances and police cars go by than I probably had heard up to that time.

"These things need time", I mutter, as I anticipate these next few years will seriously test my ability to balance my passion for adventure with my disdain for feeling trapped. Everything was unfolding so fast. It took me the whole car ride from JFK before it sunk in that this was now my city. I grew up in a small desert town, you know. New Yorkers - most of us are from somewhere else. That's what makes us trustworthy New Yorkers. We're here by choice. Our heritage is what we invented, so we have to be that much more loyal to it.

"Dramatic", I thought, as I continued looking out the window and into my new surroundings.

I guess that's what we come to the big city for.

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