Only in New York

Manhattan Skyline - photo by MAG

This blog celebrated its one-year anniversary last week, and I had hoped to mark the occasion by finishing up the entries about my trip, but that didn’t happen. So, today I am going to highlight some of the best moments of my trip.

I loved all of the unexpected adventures I had in New York – most were the result of getting lost because I didn’t follow directions, but then that’s the best way to experience things – organically.

St. Anthony of Padua - photo by MAG

Some of the best finds were the day I walked from SoHo to 27th & 5th and got lost not once, but twice!  That was the day I walked past The Shrine Church of St. Anthony of Padua on the corner of Houston and Sullivan and heard the most beautiful music floating out of the doors, into the street.  I wandered in and found the organist practicing for mass while the partitioners sat in the pews praying and chatting with one another.  There was something comforting about looking around and seeing generations of people gathered in a place that contains so much history; so many memories.

Not long after I left the church and ventured forth, I discovered the man cave of all man caves – Little Lebowski.  The funniest part of the whole adventure was that at the moment I was discovering it, D. texted me and asked where I was.  “I’m at 215 Thompson Street, do you know it?” I quickly replied.  “No, what is it?” he texted back. “Dude, it’s the Little Lebowski Shop!”  D. laughed and then asked if they give discounts for those of us who have been ordained as priests in the Church of Dudeism [both D. and I became Revs a couple of years ago, and we even have certificates to prove it].  I told him I’d go in and ask – so I did.

215 Thompson St. - photo by MAG

Roy, dressed in a bowling shirt and shoes, told me that he’d give me a 10% discount for being ordained as his eyes followed another customer out the door.  “But that guy,” he said disgustedly, “that guy doesn’t get shit!”  I gave him a puzzled look, and he explained, “He asked me for a discount, I told him no, and then he picked up a shirt and said he’d pay me $20.00 for it.  I told him the price was $25.00.  Damn tourists, they ruin the city this time of year, don’t you think?”  I bit my tongue and nodded slightly as I turned to survey the store.  Roy continued his hilarious running commentary by telling me about the history of the store, the movie and then offering suggestions about which t-shirt I should buy [I ended up with the one that has a picture of Walter, and the words “You are about to enter a world of pain”].  He gave me the discount and told me he’d give D. one, too, if he stopped by.

My next stop was the Museum of Sex on 5th Ave and 27th Street.  Talk about an interesting place!  The whole museum is full of..well…sex.  But it’s not just porn, there are floors dedicated to comics, magazines, sexual products, sexual history, and the entire top floor was dedicated to documenting the work of burlesque performers.  That was interesting because they don’t generally sit for still photos since their profession is about live performance, but this group of performers had collaborated with photographers to create still images that reflected the personalities of each individual performer.  Some of the photos were breathtakingly beautiful, and some were downright shocking, but all of them were uniquely informative.

Around the time I finished touring the museum, D. texted to say he might be able to break away from work and grab a cup of coffee.  When I told him I’d start heading back toward SoHo, he responded by telling me not to head back now since he wouldn’t be free for at least an hour – maybe two.  I texted back, “Well, I’ll be walking, and you know how I am about directions and focus!  Just text me and let me know if I need to hop the subway, okay?”  D’s next text earnestly asked, “Wow, are you afraid of the subway or do you just like walking that much?”  I laughed and replied, “A little of both, but mostly I love the freedom of being able to walk everywhere!”

I made it back to SoHo around 7:30, and at that point, D. was able to take time for a dinner break, so we headed over to Mexican Radio where we had some excellent fish tacos and I got to try D’s Negro Modelo – two thumbs up!  After dinner, D. headed back to work and I walked from SoHo back to Jane Street.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art - photo by MAG

I spent the next day wandering around the Upper East Side, and visiting the Metropolitan Museum.  I wasn’t up for the Alexander McQueen exhibit – mainly because I didn’t feel like waiting for hours in a line just to get rushed through the displays of his iconic designs.

One of my favorite exhibits at the museum was the exhibit of night photography.  My favorite was Alvin Langdon Coburn’s “Broadway at Night” [c. 1911].  Under the photo was a quote from Coburn that read, “It is only at twilight that the city reveals itself to me in the fulness of its beauty, when the arc lights on the Avenue click into being…”  Bernice Abbott’s photo “Nightview New York” [c. 1932] was also strikingly beautiful.

That evening I met D. for coffee and so we could say adieu since the next evening I had a ticket to tour the Manhattan bay by boat [thanks to D.’s eagle Groupon eye!] and wouldn’t be able to make it back to SoHo again.  When I ordered a decaf coffee, the baristo behind the counter told me they were out of decaf because they were about to close, but would I be willing to accept a decaf Cafe Americano? [or something like that, I think].  I asked him if it was the same, and he assured me that every cup of coffee was freshly made, then lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level, he confided, “Everything is made with love here. Well, except the green tea – that’s positively malevolent.”

D. and I laughed pretty hard as the baristo went to get our drinks.  It was kind of fitting that the coffee shop closed just as we were saying goodbye – no tears, no long drawn out promises to “see you soon,” just a quick hug and a smile, and then D. headed back to work and I headed off – in the wrong direction.   Fortunately, the wrong direction meant I came across Rice to Riches, and was able to pick up some mango rice pudding to take back to the hotel for a late-night snack.  And since J. loves the little portable plastic dishes the rice pudding comes in, I killed two birds with one stone!

My two favorite moments in New York came the next day when native New Yorkers proved their mettle.

The first moment occurred while I was walking up 7th Ave toward the fashion district.  As I approached a corner in Chelsea, I found myself walking behind a little old man wearing a grey windbreaker and a Yankees ball cap.  The old guy was kind of bent over, his eyes on the ground in front of him, and although he was shuffling, it was with purpose.  As we approached the other side of the street, I could see a Chelsea mom [you know the type, white polo shirt – collar up – jean skirt, Top Siders] and her two kids on the opposite corner.  The younger kid was blocking the old guy’s way, but the kid didn’t move and the old guy kept shuffling forward undeterred by the kid’s presence.  At the last moment, Chelsea mom grabbed the kid and pulled him out of the way, and the old guy shuffled by without even looking up.  Chelsea mom got huffy, turned toward the old guy and said rather loudly, “Well, you could have said excuse me!” And in true New Yorker form, the old guy turned his head slightly and shot back, “Fuck you!”

He didn’t miss a step.

The Harbor Tour boat - photo by MAG

The second moment occurred on the boat tour later that evening.  I was texting D. photos of the scenery we were passing, when D. texted back, “I must tell you, these are some pretty boring pictures you’re sending me.  The NYPD impound lot?  Brooklyn? Where’s the Manhattan skyline?”  I texted back that this was the Hidden Harbor Tour sponsored by the Working Harbor Committee.

Just as D. was lamenting the fact that he’d sent me on a tour of harbors rather than Manhattan, the tour guide started answering questions from the tourists sitting up on top of the boat.  The first question was whether or not terrorists could enter the U.S. via shipping containers.  The tour guide responded very seriously, “Well, if they do, they’re dead before the containers are opened.  Next question?”  I bit my tongue in order to hold back the laughter as I texted D. back and told him that not only was I enjoying the boat ride, but also that the answer to that question was worth the price of the entire trip.  D. responded, “Well, as long as you’re having fun…”  to which I replied, “Seriously dude, I’m going to have fun no matter where I am!”

Il Porto on Fulton Street - photo by MAG

After the boat tour, I stopped at Il Porto on Fulton Street and had a delicious salmon dinner while simultaneously looking at lower Manhattan and watching a soccer match on the bar television.  Heaven, indeed.  After dinner, I walked up Fulton to Nassau Street and caught the subway back to 14th Street. I walked now familiar route to my hotel where I packed my bags and prepared to depart early the next morning.

As the airport shuttle drove through the streets the next morning, I got a little teary.  I didn’t want to leave New York.  What I really wanted to do was go back to Michigan, pack up my things and just move, but common sense told me that was not a rational or reasonable choice, so I dried my tears and toughened up for the trip home. As I was checking my suitcase, the airline porter, a very kind fatherly man, asked me, “Why do those beautiful eyes look so sad?”  I was startled that he’d noticed, and the tears began to well up before I could stop them.

What could I say to that?  I wanted to let it flow and tell him how much I loved New York and how badly I was already aching to return, but that’s not something you say to strangers, so I took a deep breath and said, “I’m heading back to Detroit.”  He nodded knowingly as he handed me my boarding pass, and told me not to put my scarf in my suitcase because it would be cold on the plane.

I love New Yorkers.

It’s taken me a long time to blog about my trip to New York.  I’ve been back in Michigan for two months now, and while life has been busy, I think I know why I’ve been reluctant to wrap this up.

It means things are going to change – again – but I don’t know how.

New York feels a long way away, and some days I am so homesick for it that it hurts, and other days I can set it aside and do things that I love so I don’t have to think about missing the city.

This weekend J. is in New York, and she’s been acting as my “supplier” as she wanders the city seeking out all of the restaurants she’s read about in Gourmet and/or Bon Appetite. When I saw the first photo she sent, I knew I was a goner.  It was a simple shot of a city corner, and my pulse quickened, my heart raced as I looked closely at the scene.

I love New York in a way that is not reasonable or rational, and no matter how long it takes or how many different avenues I have to take in order to get there – I am going to get there.

At the Strand Bookstore - photo by MAG

New York City will be my home.

Brooklyn

Brooklyn Heights from Lower Manhattan. Photo from Wikimedia Commons

All signs point to Brooklyn.

I’ve been researching where I want to live when I move to New York, and while I’ve tried to envision myself in many of the different neighborhoods, I seem to be getting a signal from the universe that Brooklyn is where I belong.

The first sign was the Battle of Brooklyn. Fought in 1776 after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, it was the longest and largest battle of the entire American Revolutionary War.  Brooklyn is stubborn, resistant and has a history of doing things its own way – I can relate.

The idea that I should live in Brooklyn started to germinate about a year and a half ago, when I begged D. to take pictures of “all those Brooklyn girls” mentioned in Rod Stewart’s song “Downtown Train.”  D. promised he’d try, but I think he’s been wary about invading other people’s privacy – even on a subway platform – either that or Brooklyn girls scare him [Don’t judge! I’ve heard those girls are kind of tough].  In any case, my imagination ran wild and “Brooklyn girls” became the mythical representation of all that is mysteriously exciting about New York City.  I want to be one.  I think.

The second sign occurred during a shopping trip with J. We visited Sephora in search of the perfect shade of pink-but-not-too-pink lipstick.  After an hour of trying on every brand and shade we could locate [and assuring the nice sales people who work that, yes, we we were finding everything okay] we finally found the perfect shade – Buxom’s “Brooklyn” [which we now both own!].

A few weeks later, J. sent me an email in which she had attached a link to a line of address change cards from Lucky Duck Letter Press.  The cards are called “Brooklyn Brownstone” and they’re perfect!

Last month, Daily Candy offered up creations from the Butter Queen of Brooklyn! Four flavors of homemade butter named after former US First Ladies: Martha Washington: Roasted Garlic, Chives, and Tarragon; Eleanor Roosevelt: Pecan Praline; Jackie O.: Bing Cherry, Bourbon Vanilla, and Pink Sea Salt; Lady Bird: Hibiscus Lime.  Yummy!

Photo by Butter Queen of Brooklyn.

I’ve also been digging through the real estate ads again.  I’ve fallen in love with curved nooks, large windows and the personality of each Brooklyn brownstone, but I’ve also realized that falling in love is probably going to cost me upwards of $2000.00 a month. This is probably the minimum I’ll need to rent an apartment that is in a safe neighborhood and has enough space to allow me to maintain a bedroom rather than mount a sleeping bunk over the stove in the kitchen.  I’m either going to need a bigger savings account or a better paying job – or both.

There is something very appealing about being able to live in a part of the city that feels like a community.  Brooklyn is the largest of the five bouroughs in New York with a population of more than 2.5 million.  Its residents are incredibly diverse in race, class, gender, sexuality, and country of origin making it an intersection of interesting experiences!  Brooklyn offers a lively residential experience, proximity to the city, and a chance to escape the urban jungle for a little greenery and the hope of being able to afford an apartment that is bigger than the size of the average high school gym locker.

Photo by the New York Observer

The ethnic makeup of Brooklyn lends itself to a wide variety of restaurants and shops – Italian in Bensonhurst, Dyker Heights, and Bay Ridge; West Indian in Crown Heights and Flatbush; Polish in Greenpoint; and Chinese in Sunset Park.  The city has also provided the backdrop for books such as William Styron’s Sophie’s Choice, Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and Paule Marshall’s Brown Girl, Brown Stones [three books I have loved!], and for the 1970s cult classic, Saturday Night Fever.  C’mon, who wouldn’t want to live in the city where John Travolta strutted down the street in white polyester bell bottoms as the Bee Gees blared from a boom box?

The sign that made me finally admit that Brooklyn is where I belong, appeared last weekend when a woman came into the store where I work and asked for a small  part.  While we were waiting to see if it was available, we got to talking about what she did for a living.  She told me that she was a grad student at NYU, and when I asked where she lived in the city her answer was – yep – Brooklyn.

Brooklyn seems like the right choice for me.  It’s close enough for me to be able to work and play in Manhattan, but far enough away to give the hope of being affordable and to provide a respite from the hustle and bustle.  The architecture is beautiful, and so far, the apartments I’ve perused on the New York Times Real Estate section seem cozy, but full of light.

I think I could feel very much at home in the city where all those Brooklyn girls live!

One Year to Move Soundtrack

Saturday in the Park

 

 

Downtown Chicago. Photo by MAG

 

If I can’t be in New York City, then Chicago is the next best place to be.

This past weekend I traveled to Chicago to visit J. and to get a little taste of a big city. As I’ve said before, J. is a serious foodie, so I know that when I visit her I can count on taking a break from my usual fare — protein drinks and frozen dinners — the food itinerary this Labor Day weekend was amazing, as usual!

On Saturday, we started the day with an amazing baked squash and onion tart that J. had made the day before, and then headed out to power-walk through an outdoor mall. J. and I don’t mess around when we shop because neither of us has the patience for browsing. We stop in stores that interest us, do a quick sweep of the entire place, and can be out in under 10 minutes – unless one of finds something to try on, then we’re out in 15.

After our trip to the mall, we headed to the Edgewater area and picked up lunch from Gaztro-Wagon. Owned by Matt Maroni [yes, he’s heard all of the requisite jokes], this little restaurant offers the most amazing naan-wiches. I had the Braised lamb with queso Panela, apricots, walnuts and padron peppers, and J. tried the Fingerling Potato with fennel, mushroom puree, and goat cheese. We also tried an order of the plantain chips and split a real Oatmeal Cream Pie [these are not at all like Little Debbie makes them!].

 

Otom dining area. Photo by MAG

 

Many hours later, we dressed up and headed out to Otom, Joseph DeVito’s restaurant down in the Chicago meatpacking district. Otom is a quiet spot that focuses on New American cuisine with a Southern flair, and its interior might just make even the most hardcore graphic designer smile as it combines Paul Smith’s iconic stripes with exposed brick and sleek modern furniture.

What really shines at Otom are both the food and the impeccable service. The staff was friendly, attentive and incredibly knowledgeable about the food, and it seemed as if DeVito had addressed all of the biggest pet peeves that diners have! The courses were served efficiently without being rushed, and when the server boxed up our leftovers she didn’t bring them back to the table. Instead, the bag was kept in a side area until we paid our check. This solved the problem of having leftovers sitting on the table during coffee – or under the table and being forgotten.

We started the meal with green tea smoked octopus served with grilled cherry tomatoes, fennel, and pie pan squash. For the main course, I ordered the Chef’s Fish Special, which was a combination of mussels, crayfish, and marlin on a bed of wilted spinach and fingerling potatoes, and J. had the Duck Breast with somen noodles, miso dashi, baby bok choy, green onion and duck egg. And we had to split an order of the “Mac & Cheese” made with trofie, sweet corn, white cheddar and accompanied by a corn fritter that could actually have been called dessert. We agreed that next time we’re going to hijack the server and demand a plate of the fritters to start.

 

Photo by MAG

 

Otom is pricey, but we had a Groupon that deducted $60.00 off of our meal, so the entire dinner ended up costing $50.00 with tip.

On Sunday, we put on our walking shoes and took the El from Lincoln Park to North Avenue and had lunch at Epic Burger. The burgers here are outstanding – fresh, perfectly cooked and on the best buns ever! The menu is limited, and as a result, they do burgers right!

After lunch, we walked from North Avenue down to Michigan Avenue, and strolled the Magnificent Mile in search of Garrett’s Popcorn. Garrett’s is an iconic Chicago snack shop which specializes in – you guessed it – popcorn. Year round, the line in front of Garrett’s Michigan Avenue store stretches down the block, and Labor Day weekend was no exception. We waited patiently in line with fifty other folks, only to find out that they were out of cheese popcorn just as we reached the front of the line. Since I was bringing it back for a Garrett’s junkie in Michigan, I made an executive decision and settled for a large bag of caramel corn.

 

Nine West. Photo by MAG

 

We also had to do the obligatory stop at what those who know me would call “The Mothership” – Nine West – to browse the shoe sales and see what they were carrying for fall. I didn’t buy anything because I couldn’t justify the cost/use value [the cost of the shoes divided by the number of times they will be worn], but just being in the store was enough — this time.

In the Michigan Avenue Gap store, I passed another milestone in my preparation for New York City. I bought a skirt – size large. For many folks [who are not women fighting with their weight], this will have no significance whatsoever, but for me it was a glorious moment as I stood in the dressing room modeling the first skirt I’d put on in fifteen years that wasn’t marked “1, 2 or 3X.” You’d better believe I bought it! I did not push my luck and try on pants, though. I’ll save that for the next trip.

 

Gap skirt. Photo by MAG

 

By the time we caught the El back to Lincoln Park, we’d been walking [and/or waiting in line] for about five hours, and were hungry – again! We made a quick stop at Nhu Lan Bakery on Lawrence Street, and picked up the best banh mi sandwiches in the city. If you go there, I highly recommend the #11. It’s a mixture of tofu that has the texture of cooked meat, sweet and sour pickled slaw and hot peppers on a freshly baked baguette. It’s a delicious and inexpensive meal, and tastes wonderful with a nice cold Brooklyn Lager.

We capped off the meal with a slice of J.’s freshly made Pistachio Cake with Fig Jam and Cream Cheese Frosting as we watched Inspector Lewis and Detective Hathaway solve yet another murder mystery.

I might still be a year away from my New York City experience, but in the meantime, Chicago will stand in quite nicely.

Cheeseburger in Paradise

 

The roasted Brussels sprout-packed lamb patty with shiitake, Gruyere, and horseradish cream on brioche. Photo by Daily Candy

 

This “donut burger” is yet another reason I can’t wait to move to New York.

In 9 days, 10 hours and 57 minutes [depending on when you’re reading this, they might already have opened!], 4food opens their doors at 40th and Madison.  They’ll be positioned between Grand Central Station, and one of the best places in the city to enjoy an outdoor lunch, Bryant Park.

The 4food concept was developed by Adam Kidron and Michael Shuman, as an alternative to America’s unhealthy fast food industry.  The founders state that “4food is a socially networked quick service restaurant company. Our mission is to bring fast food that’s fresh, delicious, and nutritious to all ages, lifestyles, incomes, and ethnicities. No fads, fillers, or anything artificial. We’re revolutionizing counter culture, in real-time.”  In order to fulfill their mission, Kidron and Shuman enlisted the help of Bill Niman the founder of Niman Ranch, the largest purveyor of natural meats in the US with revenues of over $100 million; Dr. Woodson Merrill, founder of the Beth Israel Center for Integrated Medicine and a leading authority on wellness and nutrition; and Ed Winter, Chairman of Omnicom’s “Brand Activation” Agency, Tracy Locke, and one of the foremost experts on marketing to young people in the US.

Their signature product is the W(hole)burger™a donut shaped, beef, lamb, pork, turkey, veggie, salmon or egg patty-balanced (made whole) by one of 25 ethnically diverse Veggiescoop centers, each with unique nutritional attributes. They make Skewers with the holes punched out of the patties, which when accompanied by Veggiescoop sides, become the perfect bunless, low-carb, sharing food.

4food is not only about serving healthy, nutritional food, they are also committed to supporting fair labor practices, purchasing foods from sources that are humane and natural, and utilizing sustainable resources whenever possible.  They also encourage customers to promote their own favorite burgers on the website, thus involving the community and reducing the cost of expenditure for advertising and marketing.

Their credo is as follows:

1. De-junked fast food is made of quality, natural ingredients and customizable to your taste and nutrition goals.
2. Our foods don’t contain any hydrogenated or partially hydrogenated fats or oils.
3. No artificial sweeteners. No preservatives. No artificial flavor enhancers.
4. None of our food is fried.
5. If it’s soy, it’s not Monsanto*—wherever possible we purchase whole ingredients that have neither been genetically engineered nor modified.
6. Our chefs use simple and straightforward cooking techniques to prepare and cook your food to order.
7. Our cows, pigs, and sheep are humanely raised while grazing and eating vegetarian diets.
8. Our poultry and fish are fed heritage foods with no artificial growth hormones or antibiotics.
9. You know (because we tell you) where all of our ingredients come from.
10. We provide personalized nutrition facts, advice, and menu recommendations every day in—store, at http://www.4food.com, and printed on every receipt.
11. We charge reasonable prices, when the rights of farm workers to earn a living wage, the integrity of our food preparation, and the quality of our ingredients are taken into account.
12. Your purchases provide real world job training to individuals transitioning back into the work force—to earn more than minimum wage.
13. We compost in-store and recycle. We employ sunscreen systems, LED lighting, and purchase renewable energy credits from alternative energy generators. We’re committed to increasing our use of sustainable power as we grow.
14. We incentivize you to market your custom W(hole)burgers™ online, so that we don’t have to. The money we save on marketing enables us to purchase better quality ingredients and keep our prices down.

Community focused nutritional fast food in an ecologically conscious restaurant?  All I can say is that New Yorkers had better sustain this place until I can get there!

 

Falling for New York City

 

 

Photo by DMT

 

Three years ago, my best friend, J., and I traveled to New York City to celebrate my 4oth birthday. We stayed in the SoHotel at night, and by day, we walked the sidewalks searching out the best breakfast restaurants, finding small fabric stores, exploring the nooks and crannies of Greenwich, Chinatown, and Little Italy.  One memorable day, we walked down 5th Avenue, and stopped in H.Stern, where I casually convinced J. to try on a $12,000 necklace. My friend is an experienced traveler who had visited New York many times before, but she patiently did the tourist things, like waiting in line for over an hour to ride the elevator up to the top of the Empire State Building so that I could see the view and take the same photos that millions of other tourists have taken – poorly.  J. is also a serious foodie, so she had mapped out our meals from day one to day four.  We ate breakfast at Le Pain Quotidien, lunch at Balthazar and picked up cheese, hard salami and good French baguettes at Dean and Deluca for dinner.  Another night we ate dinner at Hampton Chutney Co., and then stopped to sample rice pudding at Rice to Riches.  If you want to eat your way through New York, J. is hands down the best person to plan your itinerary.

It was a painful trip for me, not only because I had failed to bring comfortable walking shoes and wound up with blisters on the first day, but also because the trip illuminated the fact that I was not at all happy in my long-term relationship.  New York made me realize that my life in Michigan had become miserable and small.  I could see that I was definitely not living the life I loved nor loving the life I lived. This epiphany, combined with the blisters, did not make me the best traveling companion, but J. was more than understanding about what was going on and took it in stride. We had an incredibly good time in spite of everything.

I returned home with a vague nagging sense of wanting something more out of life, but I had no idea what that was.  As life with my partner became less satisfying, I would look toward New York as an example of something bigger, richer, and more fulfilling.  I would think about it, search out information about it, and talk about it non-stop until one day it struck me – I had had a brief, but torrid affair with New York City.  I didn’t want to admit this because it made me feel guilty and ashamed, but the more I thought about New York, the less happy I was in my relationship.  My partner wasn’t as exciting, interesting, or engaging as the city had been.  New York was sleek and sexy, and when I flirted with it I felt vibrant and alive again.  I wanted to be living a fast-paced life full of activity with interesting places to go and new people to meet. Instead, I was sitting on a suburban couch watching other people living interesting lives while I wasted mine simply observing.

A year and a half after my birthday trip the relationship hit rock bottom.  I told my partner that I wanted something more out of my life and moved out. I set about reclaiming my life and began to enjoy it immensely, and for a while, my new-found freedom was a substitute for my city crush.  I began doing all of the things that I had been dreaming about, and though I didn’t feel the urgent need to leave Michigan, after a few months I knew I was beginning to settle for something less than I wanted.  Detroit would never be New York City – not even close.

I had only visited New York City for four days on that first trip, but the memory of it lingered, and I wanted to know more.  I’d scour the shelves in libraries and bookstores in search of new guide books, photography collections, or even novels set in New York.  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Invisible Man, and even American Psycho found a home on my bookshelves. I rented any movie that even mentioned New York, and I watched Manhattan, Wallstreet, and When Harry Met Sally so many times that it became more economical to buy my own copies than to keep renting them.  I begged a good friend of mine, D. (who lives in the city), to send me anything he could find having to do with New York and he generously fed my crush by supplying photographs that he took as he moved around the city for business and pleasure.  I couldn’t get enough of them.  As the months passed, I found myself lost in D.’s photographs and my own memories of walking on the cobbled streets in SoHo, riding the subway, and peering down alleys as J. and I explored the city.

I’d spent four short days getting acquainted with the city, and now I was dreaming about it like an obsessed lover.  I was falling. I yearned for the city.  I wanted it, and yet I did everything I could to deny that I was practically physically aching to return to it. And as is true of all illicit love affairs, the denial ran deep.  I would tell people that while I loved the history, the buildings, and the culture, I couldn’t really see myself actually living in a concrete jungle.  I would laugh as I reassured others that this was just a phase I was going through.  I wasn’t that invested in it. I could stop any time I wanted.  I wouldn’t actually move there.

Would I?

Maybe?

No, I couldn’t.

In the spring of 2009, I began contemplating what it would mean to actually return to visit New York.  At first it was just a promise of another brief rendezvous.  I would go alone and stay longer – maybe two weeks? As I calculated and recalculated the cost of flights, hotels, and all of the museums and restaurants I’d visit, I realized that two weeks would be expensive and not nearly enough time.  I planned and plotted ways to lower the costs and extend my stay – even just a few extra days – but I knew it wouldn’t satiate the need.  Secretly, I began to fantasize about what it would feel like to pick up and move to New York permanently.

I told no one, and it gave me a delicious thrill when, late at night, I would pull up my web browser and scan the apartment for rent ads in the Times. I dreamed about living in Harlem or Brooklyn or Queens.  When I finally confided in D., a former Midwesterner himself, that I really did want to move to the city, he replied with a matter-of-fact, “Then you should.”

However, when I’d hesitantly tell Michigan-based friends and family members that I wanted to move from Michigan to New York City, most would give me the “why the hell would you want to do that?” look.  I’d listen to their laundry lists of reasons why New York is a “nice place to visit, but not a place you’d want to live,” and logically, I knew they had a point.  I was raised in the suburbs where there was plenty of grass and lots of space.  New York City would be loud and crowded.  The cost of living in Michigan was reasonable and affordable.  Living in New York would cost me an arm and a leg, at the very least.  And as they’d point out, I’d be so far away – from them.  I’d acknowledge their concerns, but I’d be looking off into the distance, while replying, “There’s just something about it that really appeals to me.  I love it.”

They would remind me (in their practical, grown-up voices) that sometimes love is just not enough, and I’d dutifully nod as I reminded myself that a one-sided love affair wasn’t logical, rational, or realistic. I was basing my love on one short visit, and a collection of someone else’s photographs. I told myself that it was ridiculous to want to move to an unknown city where I’d be utterly alone.  I’d be thousands of miles away from my family and friends. I had no job or apartment, and I definitely didn’t have enough of a savings account to get me through the rough times.  Yet, every day I would sign on to the New York Times site, devour the regional news and follow it with a chaser of the Times Real Estate section. I couldn’t stay away.  I didn’t want to stay away.  I wanted to get closer; to embrace the city.  I wanted to love the city — and have it love me back.

Then, one night, D. sent me a shot of 42nd Street, and it looked like everything I had ever dreamed New York City would be – bright lights, whirling colors, constant motion. The moment I saw it, I began to sob.  I couldn’t deny it any longer – I was absolutely, totally, head-over-heels in love with New York City.  It wasn’t rational, reasonable, or logical — it was pure visceral emotion.  That night I decided that no matter what anyone said, I was going to find a way to move to New York.  I was determined that nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to weaken my resolve.  We would elope if we had to.  I would throw my suitcase out my bedroom window, shimmy down the drain pipe, hop into the waiting car and head out to meet the city!  I would do it, and nobody could stop me!

The next morning, I woke up and realized that my idea didn’t make any sense.  Kicking common sense to the curb and running off to live in New York City without a well-defined plan might be romantic and exciting to dream about, but in the end it was the equivalent of a Vegas wedding between two tipsy strangers.  I was being irrational and overly emotional.  I needed to grow up and be more practical about my decisions.  I’d been swept up in the moment and the emotion, but it was a love affair that would only end up breaking my heart — and, most likely, my bank account.

I began to build new walls of denial as I constructed yet another logical and rational defense, but all the while I could feel the pull of the city – stronger this time.

Soon I was back in the bookstores, renting movies, and begging D. to take more pictures. I wanted – no, I needed – to know what the city was doing, so I signed up to receive updates from Daily Candy, which told me about new museum exhibits, concerts, restaurants, and sales.  I combed the announcements, located everything on a subway map I’d kept from the trip, and then pestered D. to go and check out the things that I thought were interesting.  He was incredibly patient, and compromised by sending me pictures of things he was interested in, but basically told me that no human could keep up with my demand for information – at least not one who had a job.  And while he was happy to provide photos for me, he wasn’t interested in becoming the middle man in this growing affair, and I had to find other ways to connect.

Late one night last winter, I found myself exploring the streets of Chelsea using Google Earth.  I wanted to know everything there was to know about the streets of New York. I wanted to see them, to learn them and feel them.  When I finally looked up at the clock and realized that I’d been “walking” the streets for four hours, I knew this had become more than just a casual affair.   My cheeks flushed as I finally admitted, to myself, that I was in love.  Admitting that was scary, but sometimes love requires a leap of faith, and after all of my hemming and hawing, I was finally ready jump.  I would find a way to move to New York City – by any means necessary.

So, here I am and the fall of 2010 is on it’s way.  I have acknowledged that I love New York City in a way that transcends rationality and reason, and that I am ready to make a commitment.  However, I need a plan. Where do I want to live? Where can I afford to live?  What will I do for work? Where will I shop?  Is it safe?  Are New Yorkers really that rude? Will I be as in love with the city when I am living in it or will I find that I’ve made a huge mistake? I have a million questions, and not a lot of answers.

I have no idea how this is going to turn out, all I know is that by January 2012 I plan to be settled in an apartment in New York City.  Stick with me for the next year, and find out how I make my way from Detroit, Michigan to New York City, New York.  I may not know exactly how I’m going to do this, but I do know that I am incredibly motivated, willing to take action and unbelievably stubborn.

Especially now that “I’m in a New York state of mind.”

{“retval”:1,”msg”:””,”data”:{“blog_id”:”1533486″}}