Congratulations, Norah. One year later and not a single blog post. LAME.
It’s been a crazy year in the land of Norahville. I’ve managed to go from Broadway to Broadway. One being a honky-tonk laden avenue filled with sidewalk guitar pickers and the other a 13 mile stretch of everything from 5 star restaurants to Letterman to homeless men eating donuts out of the garbage. Nashville to New York; apple butter to the Big Apple. Moving to New York City is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and ideal for someone in the advertising visual’s industry. The choice was pretty clear. If nothing else, moving to a city like New York is a sure-fire way to see what you are made of. It is the city of the dreaded laundromat, $18 cheeseburgers, and general inconvenience. I finally understand what good ol’ Frank sang about so many years ago; if you can make it here, you truly can make it anywhere. After being here for only a few short months, I don’t think I can be so bold to make the statement of “I’ve made it”, but time will tell.
Being a born and raised southerner, there are things I miss dearly. I miss my mother’s chuckle, grocery shopping only taking 30 minutes, “y’all”, Cracker Barrel, college buddies, and of course people who love the SEC as much as I do. (Roll Tide). I will say, though, every time I discover a new brunch place, meet a new friend, see a tranny on the subway, or hear the Michael Jackson cover band in Herald Square, my hunger pangs for all things southern are satiated.
Since moving, I’ve observed some interesting things. There are a few New York stereotypes that I feel the need to squash. 1) The only gentleman is a southern gentleman. False. I have yet to be on the subway where a guy hasn’t offered up his seat if I am standing. Ladies, chivalry is alive and well in the city that never sleeps. Which brings me to my next point, 2) The City That Never Sleeps. Oh yes, my friends, you leave a dive bar in midtown at 2:30 in the morning on a Wednesday and you might as well count the tumble weeds rolling down 7th Ave. The city does take naps. Finally…3) Carriage rides in Central Park are both cool and romantic. No and no. You look like a page out of a failed Dickens novel and there is a 9 out of 10 chance that the carriage driver is on meth. Now, I know what you are thinking…”but Carrie and Big rode in one on Sex and the City!” Yes, yes I know, and 99% of the time I hold everything in that series with the utmost respect and admiration but on this one Carrie and Big missed the mark…big time.
Do I want to live out the rest of my years in The Big Apple? Maybe, maybe not…but for this season of my life, I couldn’t have picked a better place.
