in the thick of it.

The bustle through the hustle takes focus, awareness, and slowly drains away your need to be around other people.  I'm not sure I could actually live in Manhattan - each bout of fighting the flow comes with a craving of retreat, of surrender, and of eventually giving in to the oncoming shoulder-check once your reserves of being-most-polite empty entirely.

I've only listened to headphones once within it.  The speeding cars are quite rare, but quite dangerous.  A synchronized gasp erupted from our collective mouths last night when a woman crossed on a yellow, inches away from the impatient silver sports car, and inches away from being spread across Broadway.

But there are rewards for putting up with the madness.  This is my view, come sunset.  There is a palpable excitement that runs through this city.  A certain freakshow curiosity in exhibitionists fucking against windows sky-high.  The fact that anything could be happening behind those doors, and these doors.  The potential of this city is almost more intriguing than the reality of this city.

At least until you become part of the reality.  The most memorable moment started off waiting in line for half-price tickets at the Times Square Madhouse.  The lines wrapped five-thick, winding as they do for the finest of Six Flags attractions.  Ten minutes in and I hadn't moved at all - an inquiry as to where the secret Window 12 was had me into a line containing a mere handful of people ahead of me, total.  This was the line for plays only, and this was the line that received the most scorn from the DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG WE'VE BEEN WAITINGs - either ignorant that this existed, or people dead-set on seeing Annie.

No Man's Land was our top pick on my list of four possibilities, but it had two stars next to its name on the board.  Was it sold out?  Was it full price?  The barking face behind the thick glass wanted cash instead of questions, so I paid what felt far too much for half-price and slipped out of the tourist trap, and back to work.  My mind understood the fact that I had just bought tickets to see Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen on stage, together, but it wasn't until the curtain rose that the gravity of being there hit me.

So many people use celebrity sightings as a certain kind of identity, as if rubbing up against someone imbues you with even a hint of their success.  It drives me crazy, frankly, and is one of the biggest reasons I can't stand Los Angeles.  If you constantly wear stories of woven success as your sleeves, chances are you care far too much about some arbitrary, dare I say illusory concept of success.

I'd never ask someone I admired for an autograph, or a photo.  Somehow that feels like stealing time from their downtime.  But this.  THIS is how I want to spend time around incredibly talented people - seeing them performing the job that they have perfected over years and years, and feeling a certain sense of humbling privilege that I can be a part of an intimately shared moment.  A fabulous evening out and one I'm still pinching myself awake over.

Only in New York. *

* and any other metropolitan city, really