We took a trip to New York this past weekend. Ostensibly, we were there to attend the baby shower of one of Sarah’s best friends. But by “we,” I mean “Sarah,” since the party was closed to any Y chromosomes over the age of two. So, really, I was in New York just to… be in New York. It’s still a foreign, somewhat magical place to me, a place that deserves the fullest of attention and longest of days to enjoy. For Sarah, who’s lived there and visited several times a year since she moved away, New York is simply a place where her friends live, and if it also happens to be the cutural epicenter of the country, well, that’s nice.
So, as is becoming the dominant theme of this blog, we reached a compromise. We had two and half days there. Friday we’d spend playing the wide-eyed tourist in the big city, where I got to run us around from attraction to attraction, restaurant to restauarant, really earning us our sleep that night. Then on Saturday and Sunday, we’d stay centered in Brooklyn, where we’d chill out, visit friends, and adopt the too-cool-for-Manhatten vibe that’s so popular with the kids these days.
And pretty much without incident or stress, that’s how it worked out. A side effect of this compromise is that the relatively small taste of New York culture I was able to consume left me hungry for more, causing me to immediately start thinking about our next chance to go out there. Hopefully it’ll happen sometime in the fall, when the new baby’ll just enter the cute, cuddly pre-toddler phase. Meanwhile, I’m already thinking about all the restaurants I want to hit when we’re there. New York, you’re so good to us.