I heart NY

Every morning, I wake up in the city that never sleeps. I look out my window and see the twinkling lights of the Chrysler building and the antenna of the Empire State Building in the distance. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not bragging - I can walk across my apartment in exactly twelve steps. It didn’t take me long to realize that I am paying for the view more than I am paying for the comfort of my apartment. Therefore, I make sure to gaze out my window at least a couple times a day.
It’s been three weeks since Nuno and I moved to the Big Apple. Although I had some expectations, I made sure I left my rose-colored glasses at home. I didn’t come up here expecting to live like the girls from Sex and the City. I didn’t expect to live in an apartment like the cast of Friends. I didn’t expect to have breakfast at Tiffany’s. But after three fast weeks, I am cautiously optimistic because New York City isn’t only about Manolo Blahniks and million dollar apartments. What I have enjoyed the most is getting to know the people who actually live here or at least watching them from a distance – in an unstalkerlike way.
During the week, I take the R train to Manhattan to go to work. The best part of my commute is getting off at the Times Square station. If I wasn’t on my way to work, I could probably stay there all day. No matter what time of day it is, there is always a crowd of people watching some form of live entertainment. Some days it’s a group of break-dancers dancing to old Michael Jackson or James Brown songs. Sometimes, it’s a girl tap dancing as her friend plays the bongo drums. The rhythmic beats echo through the station and those standing nearby can’t help but tap their feet to the beat as well. On other days, there is a gentleman playing acoustic guitar and selling copies of his CD. Don’t forget that if you exit Times Square station, you can also run into the naked cowboy who, even in the middle of winter, only wears a pair of briefs and a cowboy hat while he plays his guitar. If you are changing trains, like I am, you’ll hear a little do-wop from a group of men who don’t seem old enough to have lived through that era, but love it all the same.
Essentially all of this comes at no price. Of course, there is a request for money from these very talented people, but between the tourists and those lucky New Yorkers who can spare a buck, I never feel bad for enjoying their performances for free.
And New Yorkers aren’t hardened and stingy as one might expect. In fact, if you are clever or comical, it’s not hard to get them to throw some money your way. One teenager has shown up on my train more than once to raise money for his “once in a lifetime chance to go to Rome, Italy” with his class. He explains that he is raising the money the honest way by selling candy on the train after school (or after detention -depending on the kind of day he had at school) and doesn’t mind if you drop four quarters, 20 nickles or a hundred pennies in his hand. From what I can tell, he won’t have a hard time buying a first-class ticket since many people give him the money without taking the chocolaty goods.
Some people aren’t even aware of how entertaining they are. One trip home, I had a hard time keeping a straight face as a long-haired head banger played a ten-minute air guitar solo.
While the city is full of actors, actresses, musicians (real and imaginary), tap dancers, break-dancers and those wanting to travel the world, it’s hard to find people born and raised in New York. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; in fact for a writer it’s pretty interesting. Once you start talking to people you realize everyone came from somewhere else and they all have a story to tell.