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Me and Frank Sinatra By Deonne Kahler Email: deonne at deonnekahler dot com (above email address formatted to reduce spam) July 24, 2008 18 days ago I moved from Taos, New Mexico to New York City to start an MFA program in fall. I had my first visitors this week, longtime family friends Roger and Bonnie. They were visiting other friends upstate and took the train into the City for the evening, and since they know New York well we were able to skip the whole tourist thing and just hang out. We met at Grand Central and walked to Soho. Roger announced that we were in danger of missing our 5 o'clock beer, a fine (new to me) practice, especially after a long hot walk downtown, so we got to Fanelli's just in time to keep the tradition alive one more day. We stopped by my apartment, which Roger seemed less than impressed with, though being a real estate genius he's well aware that Location trumps Amenities (read, a bathroom door that closes all the way). Then they very generously treated me to a delicious dinner of pate, rock shrimp, paella and Chardonnay at Blue Ribbon. Lesson: it's a luxury to have friends who are not also broke grad students, saving one from a diet of ramen noodles and the occasional cheese slice from Ray's. This week I found myself settling into a daily rhythm, one very different from my Taos life. Before— because I lived seven miles out of town and had to drive to get anywhere—it was much more regimented: now it's time to go out and see friends, now it's time to be home writing, now it's time to run errands. But here it all blends together and I feel more spontaneous, less constricted. For example, in Taos I never ran errands at night because once I was home, I was Home. But now after dinner I'm often craving a walk, so I go out in the cool of the evening and buy a book I need for class or pick up milk, then take the long way home and meander. I don't cook much, since I only have two stove burners and a counter the size of a hardback, but here you just let everyone else do the cooking, which doesn't seem much more expensive than making it from scratch and is certainly tastier than microwaved Lean Cuisine. There's also no need to stock up on anything because you can get whatever you need any time day or night. Run out of toothpaste for that before bed brush? Throw on some flip-flops and head to the all night Duane Reade. You don't even have to put on street clothes or comb your hair, because New Yorkers would just yawn at a wild-haired person in pajamas. I do recommend pants, however. Not that I would know about being half naked in public. (Hi, Mom!) And it's strange that even though I've spent plenty of time in New York as a visitor, I pictured living here as one giant battle with the masses. Like every time I stepped out the door I'd be swept up in a river of people, and have to hope to be dropped somewhere near my desired destination. But if you stay off the major streets—Broadway, 5th Avenue— it doesn't seem like that big of a city at all. There?s actually room to breathe. People who have lived here for years would probably say, Just you wait, you'll feel claustrophobic any minute, but I'm pleasantly surprised that I don't (yet). And people routinely ask me for directions now, which means I must not look like a tourist anymore, and I'm pretty sure I'm even giving accurate information. (If not, sorry to that couple from Chicago who wanted to know how to get to St. Marks. If you accidentally ended up in the Bronx, oh well! Ha ha!) Last night I walked along the Hudson amidst joggers and bikers, lovers and families. I saw Ellis Island, where the Statue of Liberty stands vigil, and as the sun set behind the skyscrapers of New Jersey—which is a lot prettier than it sounds—I thought, this is my new home. This is where I'll publish books and fall in love and make mistakes and push myself harder than I ever have. It was so profound a realization I had to stop myself from breaking into "New York, New York." Seriously, I had to slap a hand over my mouth just before belting "If I can MAKE it there, I'll make it ANY where..." at the lady reading on the bench, because that's how inspired I am these days. Who cares if I can no longer afford nice dinners? Ramen tastes a whole lot better here. About the author: Deonne Kahler has been a freelance writer for seven years, and decided it was time to move to New York and get her MFA in fiction. And really, why not? Read all about it on her blog www.lifeonthehighwire.com. | | | |
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