Cherry Blossom Boy

“Oy, I am schvitzing!” said I, while walking home on a random Tuesday night. New York magically transformed itself from Antarctica sans the penguins into a sunny paradise with a Margarita or two (or three).

The heat penetrated through my buttoned up shirt. Oddly enough, there was a charm to the change in temperature. The gritty city was beaming like a ballerina on stage at Lincoln Center.

However, as the journey to my apartment commenced, it hit me. “Oh no, winter is over.” My cardigans and sweaters will go back in the closet (unlike their owner) and hibernate till late fall. Nothing quite compared to strolling the West Village & East Village in my fall/winter wardrobe. Tears flowed down my cynical cheeks.

I finally arrived in my apartment and stared out the window. The sky was simply cinematic and devoid of cotton balls. At that moment, I realized it was time to embrace change. Rather than turning on my window unit, I walked out of my apartment building and enjoyed the early evening.

I took my nightly crosstown walk to the West Village. Although the sidewalks had awoken from winter’s slumber, I still missed the cold dearly.  Then I ventured into Washington Square Park madness, which captured my attention.

There were Skateboarders, street musicians & banjos vs. drums competing for the undying attention of my eardrum. Sword fights with glow sticks turned the park into a rave meets Star Wars film set.

I sat on a park bench and celebrated the dose of massive stimuli. If heat brought about all this fun, then I would fancy more spring weather. As I wandered more, the city truly morphed itself into a giant block party.

The next day, I woke up to more enchanting blue skies. I excitedly stepped out in a light sweater, only to run back upstairs and put a pea coat on. Spring only came for a day and went back into hibernation. Winter winds would dominate the weather trends in New York for weeks to come.

A few weeks later, spring arrived again and I embraced the comeback. Cherry blossoms colored the sidewalk with impressionist inspiration. Cafe tables spilled into the sidewalks invoking a bustling cafe culture from the East Village to Hell’s Kitchen & beyond. I went back to weekend morning walks along the Hudson.

Everything Is Pink

In the West Village, the grit and grime is simply splendid. The brownstones, designer shops, diners, hidden jazz clubs, indie book shops and cobble stone streets scream old New York character. In the land of the Marc Jacobs with a soy latte, I’ve always wanted to secretly loose the cool facade and break into a smile.

While walking where Bank meets Bleecker street, my smile grew into something more. While trying to keep a straight face and listening to the world’s most depressing hipster oriented song, I thought about a very neurotic person. It made me giggle.

As I reached West 4th Street, the giggle turned into medium sized laughter. I walked past the too cool and his equally chic accessory. My giggle eventually turned into a massive attack of laughter.

I stood in the middle of the West Village, trying to control a beast of laughter. I was enjoying my laugh with such great gusto, that appearing like a fucking weirdo didn’t matter much.

In a town known for it’s intensity, humor is better than a trip to the pub. However, my adventures in the land of laughter would persist.

Krista and I had most delightful lunch at quaint European cafe in Tribeca. Afterwards, we couldn’t stop giggling. I wasn’t sure whether it was the Tiramisu or the Billy Crystal DVD collection we spotted at the discount store.

Everything was filled to the brim with humor. When we made our way toward Chelsea & the M14 (the crosstown bus), we discovered a whole comedy show on wheels. There’s always been something about the New York City bus, which attracts more characters than a Woody Allen film.

While we tried to control our laughter, the most awkward moment arose. “There ain’t no place to put my walker,” said the old lady with her “Joan Rivers-que accent. ” Excuse me miss you could have my seat,” replied a most friendly 40 something lady. ” I can’t sit in that seat, my walker will block the entrance.” I looked at Krista. We were both unsure whether to laugh or hold it in.

” Hey you, I want your seat,” the old lady approached an equally senior citizen. ” I can’t get up, I’ve got a bad hip and look at all these shopping bags I got,” said the baffled old lady. ” I don’t have a bad hip, so there,” answered our grandma with the walker. Yes, at that moment, Krista and I lost it and laughter persisted. Somehow sassy grandma didn’t notice.

We ate more sugar that day and laughed more. Eventually, we took another trip on the M14. A lady sat across from us with her precious tulip and a stern exterior. She stared at us and soon her tough coconut exterior was being cracked open. It was wonderful to have made the most jaded of bus riders smile, even for a moment.