I'm in New York for work this week. I love NYC. I used to live here...for eight years. Actually, I think I only lived here for seven years but I'm bad at math and somehow I started saying I lived here for eight years and that is the story that stuck. Regardless of time spent or not spent here, the essence of NYC had crept into my soul never to leave. It happens to the best of us.
One thing I've notice while here is that I seem to look better in New York. It may just be the lighting in the hotel bathroom but I don't notice all my flaws as much here. That is a very relaxing thing.
Today at lunch a waiter flirted with me in this sort of shocking, bold way. It isn't that no one ever flirts with me or that I don't flirt...I'm a big believer in harmless flirting. But this was different. This was suggestive in a way that made me feel he was really trying to make something happen. It was nice. And I, of course, was totally retarded. I am not good at quick comebacks that are also flirty so I just kept flashing him a big dopey grin. Not, by the way, that I was interested AT ALL or for that matter even mildly attracted. But there was something like a vague social anthropological thing going on for me that needed to test those waters that I used to navigate with ease. In the end, it simply felt nice to be flirted with.
Yesterday, I read an article in the current issue of the New Yorker about Neil Gaiman. He lives this life that is constant self-actualization of his creative mind. That is awesome. New York makes me feel like I could do that, too. Of course, I can do that anywhere, just need to start. So perhaps I will...