Live from Lincoln Center

I wonder when my feet will stop hurting.  And then I realise I keep taking these 10 mile or more forced marches across the city and go, "You're in charge of the itinerary, you know.  You don't have to see three things in vastly different parts of the city every time you have a day off, you know."

I think if I don't go out when it rains, if I don't try to walk everywhere, I won't be prepared for winter.  

I need this to work.  I need to realise it's going to feel like it isn't working for a very long time.  Which is fine, actually.  If I have to keep doing things, I can't get bored.  

The city has no "backstage."  No alleys for garbage collection; the subway runs 24/7 so it can't shut down for total system maintenance; event set-up, tear down, they don't close, just set up barricades.  The only places you can't go, it seems, are behind pay walls.

Oh.  Wait.  The entire city is backstage for a group of rich people who have never seen it like the rest of us do.

New Yorkers don't wear flip flops, which I like.  They sit in the shade on a 75 degree day and complain about the heat and humidity.  They expect you to cut them off, to interrupt, to explain your problem is not their problem and they can't help.  I've heard so many times, "well, I don't know anything about that," when if they'd let them get to the end, they know perfectly well how to help, they just don't want to.  So when you let them talk, you hear a lot.

I've never travelled anywhere I couldn't wait to get back home from.  Home is mutable.  So people who ask me, "Do you like it?  Do you miss home?" how do I say, "It doesn't matter if I like it, this is home because I'm here."