Holidays in New York City are the worst. I’m done pretending. You try, you go, you always make a plan and then you try someone else’s plan…and it always sucks in a vastly uninteresting way. Inevitably I ended up at a bar last night where a group of people were jumping together and shouting so loud to the point of sounding believable “Fuck yea St. Patrick’s Day!” Its a cycle, “Fuck yea Santa Con!” “Fuck yea Easter Bunny, Woot Woooot!” The plan shifts , too many people at one bar, not happening at this scene…two “scenes” later you pause to ponder defeat and you realize you forgot to remind yourself never to go to mid town.
Especially not during a holiday. That way you wouldn’t be reminded that the opposite of dumb hick is more its twin, the douche bag from Jersey, Long Island, Staten Island converging in New York and donning a heavy tone when he meets another bro, there’s a manly look of importance exchanged, “you have my full attention” says one ape meeting eye to eye with another, “Good to meet you, my name is Bryan,” they enunciate every word to make it the right density of manliness and the shake. These dudes shakes hands like Boston Firemen without the accent, profession or the street cred. Irish looking, Italian sounding, beards shaved down like v shaped leprechaun velvet, earrings, tight shirts, guns juiced up like steroid pops.
Alright, I’m sorry. I still have hope for Christmas, Christmas in New York has to be nice. Not Santa Con…Christmas. Last Christmas my best friend’s parents visited from San Francisco the “Woodland Hippies” as he calls them. That was cute. One morning I woke up to find paper snow flakes taped to our large living room Window. There were special wood ornaments on the Christmas tree, I had coffee with his Dad. The Met was suddenly like visiting the hall of Human achievements with them, dinner was a curiosity with every imperfection the perfect part of a new story to tell. Parents, family, plus the city, minus the douche bags…make the city a special place.
Halloween is my favorite, won’t like the douche bags take that away from me either. I just need to remember to stay out of midtown.
Luckily my girlfriend managed to save the night, she steered us to a peaceful place, and we all got drunk and quickly. Thanks to her unflinching positive spirit, I got my grumpy soul out of the gutter and met her half way. A couple hours later we took a cab back that I don’t remember and she got us home. I don’t remember the last time I was with a woman that took care of shit, that knew how to get less drunk than I did, paid for the cab and went to sleep right next to me without protest. Thank you.
I tried St. Patties day. We got brunch but we missed the parade. I wasn’t exactly sure why I wanted to go to the parade, and I thought about this yesterday… but now I know. It wasn’t just to hear bag pipes. In the stoic faces of the men that march together, amidst Irish music and Irish faces, and strawberry blond hair I was looking for an answer. I wasn’t looking to be with apes clanking glasses, or to down Irish Car bombs while cringing at the idea that anything could be named such a thing. I wasn’t trying to find the circus or catch up to one, part of me just wanted to know (like I always do on holidays) to read on the proper faces and maybe even emulate, what the holiday means to them and how to wear it like a smile.