It is amazing- but then again, when I reflect on being human and being alive and the phenomenal propensity for adaptation that such a condition engenders, not so amazing- that I have started to find certain elements of this city, in a way, comforting. Not that I want to call it home for too much longer…but. But what?

I will explain, or at least make an effort to do so, but first I will digress. Because that is my way. : )

[Digression]: I think like a writer. I’m not sure if everyone does this or not, but a great deal of my day to day experience translates itself into neat- No, actually, not neat at all; massively disorganized, rather, adjectives and adverbs and other ways of making thoughts into black and white letters into words that might somehow make someone else understand whatever experience strikes me as worthy of translation. And in fact, making these words neat, or at least neat enough so as to be readable, to convey something entirely unique in terms universal, is the struggle, isn’t it? ([Digression within digression- on struggling]: Home Movie: Kelsey, 2 and a half years old. Christmas present- not opening easily. 1 minute, 2 minutes, 3 minutes, four. Kelsey is still struggling. Sisters kindly try to help. Kelsey refuses; she is adamantly committed to a lesson apparently learned earlier that morning… “But…but Daddy says it’s good for me to struggle with the tape!” Note that I have no idea if I got the present open, or how long it took. I wonder….)

Okay. Enough digression. What a random one that (those?) was (were?); in fact, I might recommend rereading the first paragraph and then skipping directly to the one below. : )

Lately I’ve developed the habit of trying to categorize moments and experiences that seem particularly representative of New York into things I love and things I hate, largely as a result of a thought I had regarding the formatting of my thoughts into a little post/essay about living here. Obviously the neat little formatting deal I was going for- bulleted lists, short and sweet, straight forward- isn’t happening. Such is life.

Something funny kept happening as I tried to categorize. Most things, save just a couple, fit equally well in either category. I love hate the way Central Park is always perfectly beautiful, groomed and polished every single morning for maximal loveliness. Love that it is in fact lovely, hate that it is so groomed. I love hate the way that the unbelievable population density of this island means that a single individual is easily overlooked. If I wish to satisfy that universal human longing to be a fly on the wall, the invisible observer, no problem. I need only to sit quietly upon a bench and open my eyes. But if I have that other universal human longing, to be granted a real smile, to meet with my eyes another seeking pair, I am not so easily satiated. But the city's failure in this very regard spawns another thing to love- the way that, by simply acknowledging someone, by insistently meeting a stranger’s eyes and delivering a one second smile, I can fulfill a basic human need far too long unmet. I love hate the way that my neighbor guys say I’m like Jennifer Aniston, because I’m it, the token blonde haired, blue eyed girl of my block. I love hate the subway on rainy days- hate it because, frankly, it sucks, but love it because of the way it equalizes all the passengers by redefining our previsouly disparate commutes as the same battle with nature from which we’re determined to emerge triumphant. Not to mention that I have rain boots that are bright blue with sunflowers, and life simply CANNOT be taken too seriously while you’re wearing bright blue sunflower covered boots. Sometimes I think I should wear them even when it’s not raining. I love hate that sometimes I do, because no one ever seems to know what the weather is going to be like in New York. And I love hate the way this city makes you love hate it. How frustrating, how wonderful that everything just is and it’s up to you to twist it upside down and inside out and all around and turn it into something deserved of your intense love hatred.

That said, without further ado, the two things I could come up with that fit without question into the I hate category:

Penn Station at Rush Hour; AKA Frogger in real life. I take a deep breath and go for it, a straight shot from the subway turnstile to my train platform, but always, always, always, I am foiled by an inevitable smash into an overweight, tired out, unfriendly businessman. Game over!

Too far from my family and where I came from. (But don’t take it personally Manhattan.)

That is all.

But think more about love hate. Isn't it interesting that these words can be used interchangably so often, and that they depend only upon the subject of a sentence and not at all upon the object? And who knew that the rules of grammar could have so much to do with the rules of life?????????

: )