That year… was a bad one.
I had probably worked more hours in that one year than I ever will in another year in my life. There was a week where I got 8 hours of sleep…all week…
I was fried, and burnt out. Youth was the only thing that propelled me forward.
At the end of the job, it must have been obvious to everyone around me that I needed some kind of break. I still had a week to go before I made it to vacation. My boss took pity on me. He pulled me aside right as we were finishing the job, “You know that training you missed during the job. There is a session in New York next week. Its two days, but take the full week.”
I had never been. It was an opportunity to be somewhere else. I took it.
I got in on a red-eye early Sunday morning, and I set to my goal. You see, i knew what I was going to do the second I got the word about New York. Ghostbusters is the first movie I ever remember watching. It was my connection to the outside world while being stuck in a place of starkness and shame.
I always said my first trip to NYC would be mostly Ghostbusters shit, and that held true. I did it all. I landed, got in a cab straight to Columbia university. Went to all the spots from the famous to the obscure. Example:
Through a combination of cabs and subway stops, I went to Lincoln center, the battery, the Smithsonian Museum of the Native American (which is the Manhattan Museum of Art in Ghostbusters 2). Central Park.
The holy grail itself is SHOCKINGLY not hard to find. Franklin St. stop on the 1/2 in Tribeca. Real easy. All you got to do is turn the corner. Its on the same block.
Top of the mountain. Still in use to this day, Hook & Ladder #8. Should be a fucking UNESCO World Heritage Site.
I finished my run at Lombardi’s Pizza. Cause 1) its fucking great for even being a tourist trap and 2) a genius once advised me to go there.
Went back to my hotel for a bit, and then ended the day strong.
I forgot to pack my suit jacket, so I was in a suit, sans jacket. I asked the concierge at the hotel if it was dressed up enough for Broadway. The concierge told me, “Honey, you will be the best dressed one there.”
He was not fucking lying. The hottest fucking ticket in town, and people were there in sweat pants and shit.
The show was incredible though. I cannot recommend it enough.
Walked home, grabbed a container of chow mein from some joint along the way, and had my dinner in a random park somewhere.
That. That was about as close to a perfect day as days get.
You know, we live a time of much turmoil and strife. Sackcloth and gnashing of teeth. I find its helpful to remember the better times. That there will be days like this ahead. And that’s really all I want. Just a perfect day again.
That would be nice.