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Rock Street, San Francisco

So I’m moving to New York City. The city of brotherly love. Tinseltown, USA. The windy city itself. In an effort to secure a place to call home in the Twin City, my parents and I headed up to Manhattan (that’s what the locals call New York), to investigate a few apartments.

As we drove down towards the sunshine state, my parents argued back and forth about directions, as I dosed off into a deep slumber, hoping to wake up to the news that they were getting divorced, so I could finally enjoy the two Christmases that I was robbed of as a child. (Which, for my Kosher readers, converts to 16 nights of Hanukkah)

Unfortunately, this was not the case, and soon we arrived in New York, marriage still in tact, driving down Jennifer Hudson Drive, eventually pulling into our hotel on the Upper West Side of the East Village. By now we were starving, so we ventured out to find a place to eat. We quickly stumbled upon a local New York Pizza joint, and we decided to eat there. The minute I walked in the door I was hit with an old school, gritty, New York City vibe. While I was busy taking in the classic NYC charm, we were greeted by an employee. “Welcome to Uno’s Pizzeria!” She said. After being seated, I perused the menu, until I decided to order the New York Style Chicago Deep Dish Pizza.

After lunch we decided to walk around a little bit. Immediately I fell in lust with the City of Sin. We walked through Central Park, and although beautiful, the hot summer sun continued to beat down on me while the heavy foot traffic was difficult to maneuver. I imagine the park is much more safe and enjoyable once night falls and it gets dark out. I’ll also make sure to go alone so I can walk at my own pace.

We then found ourselves on Fifth Avenue, a street lined with thriving small businesses that I’ve never seen or purchased anything from before. Most likely because they can’t afford the rent in the local mall that I frequent. Hopefully one day fashion powerhouses like Aeropostle and Limited Too will put a cease to their real estate greed, and let these small designers like Mr. Salvatore Ferragamo and Giorgio Armani get their foots in the door at the Braintree Plaza. I’m sick of Wetzel’s Pretzels’ corporate greed.

After walking for a while, we stumbled upon 30 Rock, and considered getting tickets for a late night TV show. Overwhelmed by the vast diversity, we were stumped on deciding which 35 year old white guy we should watch make fun of Donald Trump and then interview a famous actor who will inevitably tell a goofy story about how they met another famous actor. The raw content of this experimental theater was simply too much for us, so we decided to head elsewhere.

We escaped to Times Squared, a tourist free recluse, far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the city. Times Squared, which is of course what The New York Times is named after, is encompassed with old school New York architecture, complimented tastefully by thousands of of massive billboards and television screens. Looking around, it was clear that Times Squared was a special place, far away from the overwhelming influence of American media. (Unrelated, I have been craving Applebees since I went there)

Clearly Times Squared was an artistic hub, so we decided it would be worthwhile to check out a theater show. Luckily, we were able to score tickets ON BROADWAY, to a production called “Uncle Drew” at the AMC Theater.

After our trip to the theater, we decided to head back uptown, so like a true New Yorker, I hailed an Uber on my phone and patiently waited for its arrival. I was feeling at home already. We arrived back at the hotel room, and quickly realized it was time for bed. The hotel accidentally gave us a king bed instead of two doubles, which was fine, but I’m still not sure why my dad insisted on having a tripod and camera next to it. Naturally, I slept on the edge of the bed like a dog, waking up several times to the bed shaking a rapid pace. Each time I awoke, my mother assuring me it was just a minor earthquake. She then said how she sometimes wishes the earthquakes would last longer than 45 seconds, and for some reason, my dad took it quite personally. I guess he’s really into tectonic plates.

We woke up the next morning and began our journey back to Boston, each with a piece of New York now inside of us. And although I didn’t find an apartment (going back tomorrow), I hope that one day (preferably September first because I have to start work), just one day. I can put a piece of me inside of New York.








Post Author: timmccue191

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