Home Sweet Home

I just woke from a food coma. I went home for the holidays to see my family in NY. For us Christmas means lobster, shrimp, crab, lasagna, and proscuitto and figs, sopressata and the good parmesan, stuffed hot peppers, rainbow cookies, and a steady flow of wine.

And, ok, it's not all homecooked artisnal goodness, there was so much candy-coated chocolate you'd think we owned stock in Hersheys.

It's been two years since I was back and I was scared to go home, not just because I will undoubtedly get fat, but I was afraid when I walked on the city streets I would fall in love with NYC all over again. Kind of like an ex, you hope you didn't make a mistake leaving, I wanted to be sure that my move to Los Angeles was right and that New York wouldn't woo me to want to live there again. Manhattan is a great seducer, a sweet talker who sweeps you off your feet with its history, with its art, culture, and pulsating life all around you. And on my FDR cab ride,

past my old apartment on 91st Street, past the building where I used to sneak in the back entrance to have an affair, past Stuy Town where I cat sat for 8 months, all the memories came flooding back, and yet, I didn't feel any different. The city was dirtier

and gloomier than I had remembered but other than that I felt no different. No different riding the subway, no different walking 20 blocks in the pouring rain. And I realized the city is just a part of me, it never leaves me, even when I'm 3,000 miles away, when I'm stuck in traffic on the 405, when I'm walking my dog on the beach, New York is in my blood, makes sense I guess I was born and raised here. My New York friends think I'm crazy for living in L.A. they think they're the true New Yorkers for staying, but a true New Yorker can live anywhere, kind of like Superman living away from his planet Krypton, or like Frodo and the Shire. I heart New York, but between us, I can't wait to get back to LA...

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