Who doesn’t love a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call?
A head start to the day! So much energy to get started! So much more time to get things done! Starting early really is great…until that 2:30 feeling hits you at 10:15.
Anyway, in order to get to Manhattan in time for rush hour, you have to leave my house in North Carolina by 5:00 a.m.. So, that’s what I did. It took less time to get from my bed to LaGuardia than it did to get from LaGuardia to Midtown. It’s the price we pay for a day of productive and meaningful meetings.
And, since . . .
Being Five Minutes Early Is On Time. On Time Is Late. And Late Is Unacceptable.
. . . I showed up early. I invested the time in a walk around the block.
Once the meetings began, I was struck by the mahogany walls and dusty books…most of which, it appeared, hadn’t been opened in the forty years since they were put on the shelf. And, really, who can blame them with titles like Catalogus Lichenum? I don’t want to read that. Do you want to read that?
Anyway, after a long day of deep and searching discussions about the future fate of humanity (perhaps I’m stretching the topics beyond their hemispheres of truth), I set out to see a show. People who come to New York always talk about the “Shows.”
- “Oh, we saw a show!”
- “You must see this show.”
- “The show was Ahhh-mazing.”
They stretch “show” into a multisyllabic symphony that — I assume — makes them feel like actors. I didn’t feel like the actors in the shows.
Seeing the thing made me feel inadequate. These people in these shows really are ahhh-mazing. The talent is incredible. They sing. They dance. They act. They probably do backflips on ice skates in Bryant Park. And I just sit there like a loaf digesting my hamburger.
My favorite part of the show – excuse me, shooooooow – was the lady who chose to send the following text message during the intermission:
There’s a bee-atch sitting next to me twirling her hair (for one hour now) and keeps hitting me with her hair I want to kick her but there are too many witnesses.
You’re rightfully wondering how I could have read the text. Her phone was set at 75 point font.
In any event, although spending less than 24 hours in New York is not enough, home beckons so home I go.