Chapters
When my South Dakota life and my big city life intersect, I feel more like a whole person. I'm a person whose past, present, and future aren't entirely different novels, but instead chapters of one story with reoccurring characters and relationships. This weekend I felt this way when five college friends came to town to see the city and, in between their sight-seeing and city-touring, little 'ol me. I got to be a version of myself that I hadn't seen in a while. She's fun. I missed her.
Their visit included a lot of what my every day life here involves: spending too much money on food and spending too much time waiting for the subway. But we also got to spend time together, and that's something I don't get every day.
On Saturday we visited the 9/11 Memorial, and then we toured the downtown parks: Riverside, Battery, Washington Square. I revealed the great irony that all my favorite places in New York City are the places that remind me most of South Dakota. The places with grass and trees and lawn mowers and dogs. I told them that I'd only been to the top of the Empire State Building once, when I was 18 and was visiting NYC for the very first time. Even surrounded by sky scrapers, I still prefer to be on the ground.
That night I met up with my city crew in the Lower East Side where I got down to great tunes, and then I went uptown to see the South Dakota dudes on a rooftop surrounded by thick Saturday night fog. It was a night of highs and lows of both the literal and figurative sense, just like life here is most days. I drank too much, split a cab ride over the bridge, and ate a frozen burrito from the corner bodega at 3am. Sadly typical.
After spending most of Sunday recovering from the previous night's choices (specifically that burrito), I chugged vitamin water and pulled myself together in time to introduce the BROS to BROoklyn. We met at a (the only) sports bar in Williamsburg to semi-watch the 49er's game. DB joined us and served as our Williamsburg liaison, taking us next to Skinny Dennis and then the Levy, both drawing crowds significantly different from the one we walked in as. We donated money to jukeboxes that refused to play our requests and drank one cold beer after another. Of course we found and played Erotic Photohunt while eating complimentary cheese puffs at the Leevy. The guys discovered the "Frat Boy special" consisting of a bottle of Budweiser and a shot of jag for $5, and they cheers'ed like they were in the basement of Delt freshman year. It was adorable.
As we walked along Canal street on Monday night, their last night here, I told them about how Canal was my least favorite street in the whole city--the location of my bus/moving truck accident last August most specifically. As we walked toward our trains, a truck plowed past, spraying us all with the thick, rancid gutter water that Canal Street is known for. It was like an old New York movie, and I looked at them with my arms open, eye brows raised, and shoulders shrugged--"You see what I mean??" I brushed myself off like all New Yorkers do, and walked to the Brooklyn Bound C to take me home. I said goodbye to those five frat boys, and I hugged them each tightly, wondering how many more chapters of my story they'll be around for. I'm glad they made it into the one about New York.
Their visit included a lot of what my every day life here involves: spending too much money on food and spending too much time waiting for the subway. But we also got to spend time together, and that's something I don't get every day.
On Saturday we visited the 9/11 Memorial, and then we toured the downtown parks: Riverside, Battery, Washington Square. I revealed the great irony that all my favorite places in New York City are the places that remind me most of South Dakota. The places with grass and trees and lawn mowers and dogs. I told them that I'd only been to the top of the Empire State Building once, when I was 18 and was visiting NYC for the very first time. Even surrounded by sky scrapers, I still prefer to be on the ground.
That night I met up with my city crew in the Lower East Side where I got down to great tunes, and then I went uptown to see the South Dakota dudes on a rooftop surrounded by thick Saturday night fog. It was a night of highs and lows of both the literal and figurative sense, just like life here is most days. I drank too much, split a cab ride over the bridge, and ate a frozen burrito from the corner bodega at 3am. Sadly typical.
After spending most of Sunday recovering from the previous night's choices (specifically that burrito), I chugged vitamin water and pulled myself together in time to introduce the BROS to BROoklyn. We met at a (the only) sports bar in Williamsburg to semi-watch the 49er's game. DB joined us and served as our Williamsburg liaison, taking us next to Skinny Dennis and then the Levy, both drawing crowds significantly different from the one we walked in as. We donated money to jukeboxes that refused to play our requests and drank one cold beer after another. Of course we found and played Erotic Photohunt while eating complimentary cheese puffs at the Leevy. The guys discovered the "Frat Boy special" consisting of a bottle of Budweiser and a shot of jag for $5, and they cheers'ed like they were in the basement of Delt freshman year. It was adorable.
As we walked along Canal street on Monday night, their last night here, I told them about how Canal was my least favorite street in the whole city--the location of my bus/moving truck accident last August most specifically. As we walked toward our trains, a truck plowed past, spraying us all with the thick, rancid gutter water that Canal Street is known for. It was like an old New York movie, and I looked at them with my arms open, eye brows raised, and shoulders shrugged--"You see what I mean??" I brushed myself off like all New Yorkers do, and walked to the Brooklyn Bound C to take me home. I said goodbye to those five frat boys, and I hugged them each tightly, wondering how many more chapters of my story they'll be around for. I'm glad they made it into the one about New York.
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