I'm still in NYC -- I fly home tomorrow afternoon. :(
I just got back from dinner with my family in the courtyard of this lovely little French restaurant in what I think is technically considered SoHo, but really, who knows? The neighborhoods just sort of blend into each other here. Like last night, when I went for drinks with a friend at a pub in what I think might have been Chelsea, but could have been anywhere.
I love this city. I could spend my entire life here and still only scratch the surface. There's just so much. Like on Sunday, how the little pub where I ate lunch with my Grandmother just happened to be where O. Henry allegedly wrote The Gift of the Magi.
The only place I've been that has even come close to the sheer magnitude is London. I could live there, too. Heck, sometimes I wish I did.
When I go back to D.C. from here -- or in the old days, when I used to go back to Florida -- everything else just feels so small -- so utterly provincial -- in comparison.
And it's not that I don't like D.C. -- I really do. But there's just something about New York.
Maybe it's because I was born here.
There is one serious problem with me in New York -- it brings out some of my worst tendencies. Like how instead of being all serious about my seminars, I wound up taking a little detour to do a little bit of shopping in the department stores along 5th Avenue.
And I was a bad, bad kid. I may have only bought a few things, but one of them happened to be a Calvin Klein suit. But hey, it was on sale -- and it doesn't have to be altered. (Sale. Mmmm. My favorite four letter word.)