Okie-Turned-Yorkie Does Karaoke...

Move to New York City. Check. Get a job. Check. Figure out what to do with my life… well… at least it made the list.

Exactly one week ago my best friend and I moved to New York City—she following a lifelong dream to immigrate to the central hub of art and culture in the United States and I to follow the promise of adventure. I have yet to be disappointed. In my experience (limited though it may be), even a simple trip to the corner supermarket can turn into an adventure here in the big apple. The inventory at our local “Fair Trade” proportionately mirrors the diversity found locally on the sidewalks of our new neighborhood. It is a little more difficult to find an economy sized bottle of ranch, however, there is an entire wall devoted to vats of all different kinds and combinations of olives. The majority of the cashiers are of Greek descent—a demographic that makes up a very large portion of the inhabitants of Astoria.

Astoria is awesome. A twenty-minute ride on the NW gets you to Times Square, and there are no bars on windows and no menacing dark allies (due to the gold-paved streets). It’s nicknamed “Actoria” thanks to the recent influx of young, handsome, talented young people following their dreams to pursue a career in the noblest—and oldest—of professions. There is also a fair amount of “Oklahomians” living in this neck of New York’s concrete woods. Day 2 of my immigration I was invited to karaoke by an okie-turned-yorkie at a bar around the corner from my temporary home. We reconnected with several UCO grads and, much to our surprise, met a few new ones. After overhearing our heated conversations over the broncho’s upcoming season, the owner/bartender showed her true bronze and blue colors by joining us in singing the alma mater while sipping cordials and smoking cigars in our smoking jackets—a theatre grad, nonetheless. We truly are everywhere.

I am currently getting a dose of easterly winter weather—they’re expecting one or two feet accumulation by tomorrow morning. Thankfully it’s only a short walk (or, more appropriately, trudge) to the subway.

re: wonderful smelling New York. I smelled my first rotten subway car today. The following description (while completely accurate) is quite graphic. Those faint of stomach or easily disturbed by horrific visualizations please skip to the final paragraph. At first wiff, it smelled as if a wet dog had trotted into the car, defecated on the floor, and was then gutted by a commuter suffering from untreated hyperhydrosis. After a few more moments of savoring this heady aroma, I recognized a more complex scent hiding underneath the previous as if someone had proceeded to eat the disemboweled dog, partially digested it, and then regurgitated that recent meal all over the train.

On a brighter, less gruesome note, my allergies have practically disappeared since moving here. Tragically, had I been stuffed up today I may have been spared this traumatic olfactory assault. It’s going to take my nose a while to recover from that attack—my eyes watered constantly through the writing of that last paragraph. And on that stinky note, I bid you adieu. May your days be filled with pleasant smells.

...To My Future.

Waking Up (to my future) at 5:00 in the morning two stories above a chilly lake in rural western Oklahoma to the sound of geese laying eggs, pooping on things, and flying south to terrorize small children, I came to the sudden realization that later that evening for the first time in my life I would live in a place where human beings wholly outnumber resident populations of geese.

Erin and I met up at the airport an hour before our flight. The goodbyes were short but sweet, and to clear up any teary eyes that might linger after we passed into airport security I made sure to yell back “you all better not get mugged while we’re gone” just before being asked to remove my belt by an older man wearing plastic gloves and a polite smile. After a short chemical analysis of the peculiar red substance covering the bottom of my shoes, Erin and I were riding the moving sidewalk (to our future) and shortly thereafter boarded the plane (to our future) where we encountered the first hiccup in our so far successful sojourn. We boarded the plane, careful to remember the numbers printed on our boarding passes—A37 and A38. We moved diligently down the aisle past rows 1 through 21 and abruptly came to the butt end of the plane. Hundreds of scenarios lit through my brain—we were on the wrong flight, there was some sort of error with the computers and they sent the wrong plane, the internet had sold us two seats that did not exist—however, the correct explanation was not among them. Thankfully, a kind man sitting in the middle of the plane took note of our panicked expressions as we walked up and down the aisles checking for alternate seat numbering systems and told us it was open seating—those numbers were just the order on which we boarded the plane. Relieved to be on the correct plane, I sat down, buckled in, and taxied down the tarmac (to my future). The yells and cries of the children in the seat in front of us provided a sharp contrast to my grinning and ecstatic mood throughout the flight. After a quick layover in Baltimore we were again airborne. Cinematically the clouds parted and there was Manhattan—my future home. As the city rose to greet us, the heavens opened and bathed the big apple in a golden glow. It was the golden glow of my future.

The taxi driver from the airport defied all stereotypes as he spoke English quite well, helped us with our bags, was extremely cordial, and did not smell at all unpleasant. In fact, New York City does not smell unpleasant in the least—on the contrary, almost every corner smells like Asian food. I am in heaven. After dropping our bags off at our apartment we bought our metro cards and hopped onto the N train (to our future). Subways are rapture. Where Daniel loved planes, I loved trains—however I have never ridden on one until yesterday. It is all that I had hoped it would be and more. Soon I will submit a blog entry entirely devoted to the subway, but I feel that I am reaching that critical point in a blog where everything needs to be tied up before the reader gives up and skips to the final paragraph.

In some future blog I will describe in great detail our first subway ride, our first coffee shop, and our first grocery-shopping excursion—but now I must say goodnight. This city is all I have ever dreamed it would be and more. Thank you all for being part of my journey here.