Now, that's what I call giving J. Crew an edge. The line's linen pants (a newly coveted item by yours truly) and silky tank could be rather plain if not for the rockin' accessories. Though I have yet to wear a pair of these shoes and though they seem outrageous, they're actually quite versatile. That said, I may have to work up a little courage to be able to pull them off. I'm calling this one "Take a Bite out of That."
Today is one of the rare days I have to literally force myself to write. After five months of being pent up in the house, I have been enjoying a string of busy (despite exhausting) days at my new job. Where my days were once filled with job and virtual wardrobe hunting, they are now filled with stocking shoes and arranging designer jeans--not that I'm complaining. I have also come down with a nasty cough, which is moving deeper into my chest this very moment. That's what I get for exposing myself to a sea of germs all at once. So, armed with meds, tea, and baths, I plan on holing up for the next two days as much as I can. That means going to bed early.
The women are still in LA, and things are not what they seem. Carrie gets a Brazillian wax (never had one myself, though I've heard it's terribly painful) and hooks up with an agent for stars (played by Vince Vaughn), who turns out to be more of a housesitter for stars. Miranda meets an old pal who used to be chubby and grumpy and who is now peaceful and skinny--or so she thinks. After watching him spit out all of his food at dinner, Miranda realizes he's not peaceful, just incredibly neurotic. After trying to talk to Trey about his sexual disfunction, to no avail, Charlotte escapes by joining her friends in LA. After a man offers her a boob job, she realizes how much she's glad to be out of the dating scene and begins to miss her husband, sex or no sex. Samantha meets Hugh Heffner and snags a fake Fendi purse, only to have it stolen at the Playboy mansion one night. Disillusioned, the quartet leaves for home.
Facades are the topic today. Does what's on the inside matter as much as appearances? At the risk of becoming as trite as this episode, I'm not going to say much about that. I mean, come on. We all know where this is going.
I am going to say a bit about New York City and LA. Having lived in the former for a year and a half (nothing by natives' standards), I think I've earned the right to say that I know the city pretty well. That's not to say I feel comfortable there, and I would never call it home, but I can find my way around. Random fact (though maybe not so random): It is the only place I've lived where I made no friends. Not a single one. I have acquaintances and contacts there; I have people I would look up when I visit. But I don't have friends. I keep in touch with nobody from my freshman year, and I the only girl I ever had a personal conversation with I met working at a summer camp in the suburbs, which doesn't count. Apart from work, though, we didn't hang out either. She had her cohort and life in the city, which I just couldn't keep up with.
What I remember from that first year at school is a collection of anecdotes. Every Sunday I went to the market on 14th Street. Sometimes I read at Barnes and Noble on Broadway. I ran in the Race for a Cure with what felt like a million other women, and I saw the lighting of the Christmas tree first hand. On weekends, I went to Off Off Broadway shows (Broadway when family and friends were in town, because they always wanted to see the flashy stuff that I was by that time sick of). I ate pizza and a grossly overpriced salad bar for dinner and tried to diet so I could fit in with all of the beautiful, smart, successful people. I once said, "Hi, I really like your work" to Janeane Garofalo before she dropped off the face of the planet. New York for me was like the oh-so-cool crush I was always trying to impress but who really wasn't that interested in me. But I kept trying. Whenever I go back, I still try.
Both times I have visited LA, on the other hand, I felt free, if a little glamour crazy. I mean, boutiques and flashy people are everywhere, but they're not trying to be better than you. They're just trying to stand out. In a way, you just feel sorry for them. Besides the smog (which, after four days, was literally choking me), it seemed like a sunny paradise. However, I have to say that upon entering the city for the first time, I felt the strangest sensation. This may just be a product of my Presbyterian upbringing, but it seriously seemed that the arms of Satan were trying to lure me in and embrace me. I saw what appeared to be a dark cloud coming down on me from above, promising me fame and fortune if I stayed. I kid you not. It was eerie, and it had happened right at the moment I had thought to myself, "I think I need to move to LA." But my time there was great. I shopped at cheap stores selling great jewelry. I sunbathed on Venice beach and watched for celebrities. I visited UCLA and Beverly Hills and saw famous people's handprints outside of of Mann's Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. People seemed nice enough, if a little unimpressed by everything. But I never moved there.
Both cities hold a special charm to me. They are both the sites of so many dreams and hopes and disappointments. Even though it pains me to say this (because saying it takes away an option filled with excitement), I know I will never live in LA, mainly because I can't breathe there--maybe in all aspects. I would like to think I will make it back to New York someday. It remains in my mind "The City That Got Away"--the place that epitomizes so much of what it means to me to be human with all the struggle and buzz of life. Plus, the food's some of the best in the world, and that's a big deal.
But I don't know that I will ever live there again. It's like that chapter in my life has passed; it's an opportunity I already decided I didn't want when I moved upstate sophomore year, vowing never to return as a resident. I told myself I couldn't take the lack of space, of quiet, of plants. It made me anxious that people were running around while I was sleeping. There was no collective understanding besides "Go, go, go." I hated that I never recognized anyone on the street--not even my street. I knew I would never be able to tame New York, not even in my own mind.
So here I am in Denver instead. Denver is great, don't get me wrong. Here you can have your Coach handbag and hike with it too. But I sometimes still dream of the city that first captured my awe, the city where everything seems to happen first. And then I think, "Well, what's the hurry anyway?"
I hope you'll be back. I will.
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