Routine

Nothing worse than watching something beautiful turn to shit right before your very eyes. The hometown that is. I remember lying on an empty 18th floor penthouse apartment, with a bag of chips and a blanket, spending my first night here. I surveyed the cityscape from the suburbs with admiration, hope, and intimidation. I can get no closer, now I live amongst the buildings I so admired, and they have become tombstones in a cemetery.
I watched the Jerry Seinfeld documentary Comedian. Shot in New York, it chronicles the balls to the wall move of starting from success and moving backward. Rather than build on his material from one of the most popular television shows in history, Jerry starts with nothing, developing an act in small clubs throughout Manhattan. Juxtaposed with this, is the aggressive drive of a young comic, who lives in New York and barely scrapes by, developing material in a similar way. Both are hungry, and both of them live in New York.
The varied scenes of comedy clubs in the east and west villages brought a pang of recognition to my heart as I watched it. Especially the river of yellow, rolling up and down the avenues, the taxi's, chirping their horns in a never ending procession. It made me miss New York, and simultaneously loath the hometown. Anyway. Something wonderful happened over the weekend, now it doesn't seem so far away.