San Francisco is home. I love it and the life @abbyzeecee and I have built there. But there is magic in New York. I'm here for a quick work trip and I miss living here, and I'm ready to be home.
  1. The New Yorkers.
    These fucking people know it. They know they are blessed to be packed into tight overpriced spaces. They know it. They know they are lucky to shove themselves into a crowed uptown 6 train on a hot and humid Thursday. They know that the corner bar will let you use the restroom only if you say hi to Jimmy. They know to tip the super at Christmas. They know it and they don't even need to tell you. I know this because there was a time that I knew this too.
  2. The pace.
    The frenetic, breakneck, brutal pace somehow relieves my neurosis. Even lost tourists move with a sense of purpose that makes me feel at peace.
  3. The unwritten code.
    You jay walk here and slam your hand into the hoods of cabbies who disrespect that. You push people into the subway to beat the closing door. You eat street meat of questionable origin and don't get sick.
  4. The masses.
    I walked six blocks from my hotel to my first meeting today and saw as many people as live in San Francisco. It is powerful.
  5. The constant movement.
    I walked a bit over two miles back to my hotel this evening at 10:30 to the buzz of construction, deliveries and runners. People were leaving office jobs by the hundreds. Folks were enjoying dinner, not dessert but dinner. This is 10:30 on a week night. It's unhealthy. It's exhausting. It's impossible. It's outstanding.
  6. The capital of the world.
    Finance, fashion, food and those are just the f's.
  7. The intention.
    An example: People smoke here and they are smokers. They don't apologize for sucking cancer into their bodies. They are smokers and aren't trying to quit. Sure some quit and some just smoke when drinking but this is the hardness of the people and how they do is impressive. It's hard but impressive.
  8. The shifting street view and skyline.
    Nothing endures but change and Duane Reed.
  9. The drive from JFK.
    Whenever I flew here with my mom, inevitably she would say, "I wonder who these people are who live in these houses" out in Queens. And that she used to think that all the lights in the big apartment buildings on the West Side Highway were people with stories, when she was a little girl and visited NYC with her parents. I now think the same thing as the taxi speeds down the Van Wyck.
  10. The trip home.
    I no longer know. But I know it's time to go home.