I love New York. I’m not just saying that because I saw it on a t-shirt. When I think about it, I don’t love the entire New York state or even the entire city (which includes the five boroughs). I appreciate parts of it (like Sheepshead Bay and Brooklyn), but I love Manhattan, the New York, NY postal address. I only lived here for two years after finishing graduate school. I lived with Steven in a one and a half (I’ve returned to the land of proper grammar—thanks for slapping me silly, Chuck. I’m not sure what I was thinking listening to Doolies. What do doctors know of grammar?) bedroom. I still had not discovered NEQID and I was the cold and rational David that didn’t understand art. Because of that, I never explored the nether regions of the city, a mistake I hope to rectify one day. But even ignoring all the artistic possibilities New York had to offer, I loved living here.

It’s almost a cliché to speak of the energy of the city, so I’ll spare you my analysis of its amorphous force. In sprawled Houston, I experienced a type of convenience where the blocks of strip malls carried all possible manner of franchised shopping stores to fulfill even the grubbiest consumer’s needs. While there are all manner of stores in New York, these stores are not as convenient. When a New Yorker goes grocery shopping, they usually have to carry their groceries a few blocks to bring them home (the lazy ones, eg, me, could also have them delivered). The amenities of New York are more refined: the arts and transportation systems are wonderful. When I lived here, I didn’t own a car. To get around, I walked, rode the subway, or hailed a cab. When I walked, which was often, there were so many different routes, that the scenery never bored me. Every block was full of unique stores, interesting architecture, strange people. The people watching opportunities were plentiful. Whether strolling parks or sitting in outdoor cafes in the warm months, or riding the subway or sitting on hard chairs in coffee houses (they don’t offer leather chairs probably because they don’t want to chase sleeping homeless people from their stores) in the cold months, a strange person who would make the perfect character in a story was never too far away. Of course, when I lived in New York, I wasn’t a “writer” yet. My people watching, which I did much of even then, was purposeless but still fun.

Like most places, there are downsides to New York. New York is a place that you could love as a student or a grownup with money, but dislike as a middle-class person. It’s a city where everyone is in a hurry and the streets are crowded in the middle of the night. It’s a city where there are extreme temperatures a few weeks every year. It’s a city where you fall asleep not to the sounds of frogs and crickets, but to sirens, screeches, and drunken dissertations. It’s a city where people live in heights reserved for trees, and trees live in prisons of parks. It’s a city where if you’re not fast and aggressive, you’ll get pushed over; but it’s also a city where if you fall, someone will pull you erect before bustling away.

Every time I visit, I feel the pull of the city. I want to walk its wide avenues, wander its museums and parks, and wait in line for its shows. In short, I yearn to grow up in New York.

I was wrong yesterday when I described the show we went to see tonight. “Democracy” was a Broadway show. The show was a historical drama set in West Germany after the ruling counsel (controlled by the United States) relinquished control to an elected West German government. It followed the leaders of that government, which included an East German spy who became the chancellor’s assistant, through the fall of the Berlin Wall. As a historical work, it was quite good. I learned about an era that I (and most people) never gave much thought to. All the male actors (similar to the government of the time, there were no female actors) were excellent. The problem with the play, however, was a lack of conflict. There was much political infighting, but there was little suspense or tree conflict. The spy’s story also left little doubt. The play was enjoyable to watch the actors and learn about the history, but overall it left me unsatisfied. I wanted more. I wanted real characters face with a real dilemma. One would think that governing a war-torn country that’s building itself from the ruins of defeat would provide many opportunities for conflict. When the actors took their bows, I clapped for their performance but not for the script.