Soundtrack: New York State of Mind

"I know what I'm needin' and I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York State of Mind." -Billy Joel

I have always considered myself a New Yorker. Maybe part of that is envy, from growing up in New Jersey. As I've grown older, I've learned to wear my New Jersey roots as a badge of honor. I'm proud of it. Still, to use a line from that famous tourism ad campaign, "I love New York." I love New York even though my hometown is actually closer to Philadelphia than it is to New York.

"Some folks like to get away. Take a holiday from the neighborhood. "

I've just always identified more with New York than any other place. A lot of that is growing up a fan of Billy Joel, more so than Bruce Springsteen. A lot of that is my family being from Jersey City, right across the Hudson River. My parents grew up in the shadow of Manhattan. And let's be honest: New York is a hell of a lot cooler.

There is a framed picture of the New York city skyline as we once knew it hanging in our bedroom. I gave it to My Director for Christmas 2001, three months after the attack on our city:

I broke down in tears when she opened it. Because our city was healing, but still badly scarred. The wounds were still sore. The horror still fresh in our minds.

"I don't have any reason. I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York state of mind."

That song by Billy Joel was the last song we put on our wedding CD, the thank-you gift we gave to our guests. A compilation of songs about us, about our love and our life. Is there anything better than his slow, cool piano solo in the beginning of this song? The saxophone at the end? We were married in Pennsylvania, where My Director is from. I am born and raised in New Jersey. We lived in Hoboken, the town right next to Jersey City, at the time. But we were always in a New York state of mind. We always will be in our hearts.

"It was so easy living day by day out of touch with the rhythm and blues."

I treat New York like one of my siblings. Respect. Love. Loyalty. With full knowledge of some of its more annoying quirks and habits. Drivers that insist on speeding up to red lights. Cabs who think having the right of way means they are legally permitted to run you over. The throngs of tourists in Times Square who pose as a daily obstacle course as I make my way to the bus ride home. And whatever that appetite suppressant of a stench is on summer mornings that is so gag-worthy it makes eating anything on the go impossible.

"I'm walkin' here." (I've done this many times myself.)

Like my siblings, I accept New York's faults on most days. That's just who she is. Then there are the days it's so aggravating I lash out with an audible F-bomb of my own. But like I do with my sisters and brother, I defend New York to outsiders, even if they're right. While New York can be a jerk sometimes, she's my jerk and it's none of your business.

Most of my time in New York is spent at work. And I must admit there are times I'm walking from place to place and hear a car backfire or a crash-boom at a construction site and it'll startle me. For a split second I'll fear the worst again. But if 9/11 taught me anything at all, it taught me that our city will always be here. They can knock down buildings but they can't knock us down.

I love New York. For its strength, its majesty, its diversity. But most of all, I love it for its resiliency.

Enjoy this great live version of Billy Joel's tribute to the greatest city in the world:
 Last year I shared the story of one of my greatest professional accomplishments, and how it serves as a daily reminder of 9/11. You can read it here.

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It's Up To You, New York

"If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere." -Frank Sinatra

There are moments when I truly love New York. When it shows you its heart and soul and you really wonder why the greatest city in the world gets such a bad rap.

Then there are moments when I just want to punch the city in the face and then demand an apology for making me do it.
This is the story of one of those punch-in-the-face moments.

On the Friday before Fourth of July weekend, my wife took the peanut to work with her. Daycare was closed and my wife had a half day because of the holiday. The peanut actually gets excited for these days. The train ride in, the subway, all of the attention from co-workers. But these days are exhausting for her.

Always an adventure. Especially this time because my wife had decided to leave the stroller at home. "It's too heavy," she proclaimed. "Besides, she's old enough to walk the few blocks from the subway to my office." Fine.

The large bouquet of flowers

I left my work in midtown early to meet them downtown where my wife works. We were ready to start our vacation together. That day my wife's boss had given her a large bouquet of flowers for her birthday. My primary function was to carry these flowers three long blocks to the subway, three stops on the subway, one long block to the bus station, and on the bus ride home.

Remember, the peanut is walking this whole time and being such a good sport about it despite the heat. She's holding our hands, listening, and even staying within reasonable distance when she had insisted on walking by herself.
We get on the subway and, naturally, there are no seats. At this point, the peanut starts complaining. Out loud. "Mommy, I really want to sit down."

Nothing from the other passengers.

She says it again.

My wife explains that there are no seats.

Nothing still.

One woman is actually looking directly at my daughter as she is requesting a seat. And still she doesn't get up.

This is when I want to punch New York in the face.

What possesses people to sit there while a little girl is asking to sit down? She's not even whining. Just stating that she's tired and wanted a seat.

Someone finally gets up to offer her his seat. But it turns out he was getting off at the next stop. So to me, that doesn't count.

We all get seats at that stop. A dad and his little boy, a kid about a year younger than my daughter, slide down to make room for me.

Remember I'm still holding this enormous vase of flowers.

The moment I crouch to sit, I hear the dad who moved over for me start screaming. Yes, screaming.

"Whoa! WHOOAAA! WHOAAAA!"

I had accidentally tipped the flowers and some of the water inside had dripped out onto his son, who was sitting next to me. This father then proceeded to make a ridiculous scene out of the whole thing. Shaking his head in disapproval. Scowling. Checking his son's black t-shirt for, I guess, water stains.

It was a disproportionate response that was so out of line he probably didn't hear my heartfelt apology because he was screaming so loudly. I no longer cared that his stupid kid was wet because of me. I kind of felt at that point it was payback for everyone else not giving up their seats for a little girl.

My wife, annoyed at this moron and the rest of the car full of jerks who wouldn't give the peanut a seat then chimed in, "It's only water. It'll probably cool him off on this hot day."

Had my daughter not been there, I may have added a " you a$$hole" before he and his not-quite-soggy kid got off at the next stop.

These are the moments when I want to punch New York in the face and then demand an apology for making me do it.

Luckily, a ten day vacation followed.

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New York, New York

"The trouble with having a stubbornness contest with your kids is that they have your stubbornness gene." -Robert Brault

I definitely had this coming to me. It was only a matter of time. I did the same thing to my father, but never for a minute considered how it made him feel. The only positive to come out of my child's making a decision to truly aggravate me, the only positive that I can possibly think of, is how early in her life that she made it. Even though I may be virtually powerless to overturn her decision, at least I have a long time to get used to it if not get over it.

There we were, on a football Sunday. It was the first Sunday that I was able to enjoy NFL Red Zone. For those of you who are not aware, this is a channel that takes you to any game once a team enters the red zone. That is, inside their opponents' 20-yard line. When a team is close to scoring, you're watching it live. There is non-stop action. No commercials. For $50. That's it. Worth every penny. Next year it's included in the cost of my service. Next year I get a catheter implanted.

So there we were, the Peanut and I. It was moments after I made this wise purchase. And I was enthralled. I was excited. I was voicing my pleasure loudly as NFL Red Zone took me from city to city, game to game, stadium to stadium. With every turn, I shouted, "Now we're in Kansas City!... Now we're in Baltimore!... This is amazing!"

And she was amazed right there along with me. "Oooh, daddy... who's the team in red?"

"That's the Chiefs."

And then the setting would change.

"Daddy, who's purple?"

"That's the Ravens."

And then it happened. The scene switched to the Meadowlands. The Giants were playing the Titans. This is the game that I would have been stuck watching before the days of NFL Red Zone. A game I would refer to as "nap time" since, as a Jets fan, I find the Giants mind-numbingly boring.

"Ooooh.. daddy... who's the blue team?"

"The Giants are blue."

"I like the Giants."



She developed Gang Green during last year's playoff run

  And there you have it. My three year-old's favorite color is blue, and thus she has decided that her favorite football team is - gulp - the Giants. I have decided to take her decision in stride. After all, she's doesn't root against the Jets. Not yet, at least. In fact, she still does the old J-E-T-S chant for me during games. Still, ask her which team is her favorite, and she will tell you it's the Giants.

When she didn't have a choice...

I guess I deserved this. I guess I had it coming to me. My father was a Giants fan. And before I decided to root for the Jets, I was actually a Dallas Cowboys fan. Two teams that are definitely not among the preferred alternatives for Giants fans. Not only did I root for the Jets. I made my father become a Jets fan. Not only did I make him become a Jets fan, I made him disavow the Giants. I made him take me to Jets games. I made him suffer all those years along with me.

...those were good times

I still have time to win her over. Still have time to convince her. Still have time to instill in her that our house is a Jets house and under no circumstances is she to be a Giants fan. But that sounds a little ridiculous. The Peanut can decide for herself. She will decide for herself. All I can do is provide her with the information, with my perspective. It's up to her to agree or disagree, whether it's sports, politics, or religion.

We'll see if history repeats itself, and if she someday converts me. I certainly hope not. But what goes around, comes around.


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