Dear NYC

Dear NYC,

2009-03-19T13:37:00.003-04:00

I love the sound of teeth crashing into a potato chip.

I miss you,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2009-01-21T09:27:00.005-05:00

We don't see eye to eye on many things. But, I'm sure we can agree that of all the newfound Patriotism and inspiration captured in many Inaugural photos, this one is the most enfranchising.

With eight years of service in the history books, it's time you get along now Cowboy.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-11-14T10:28:00.003-05:00

Thanks for your note. I tried that body scrub you suggested and it's aces.

I want to talk to you about an introspective moment I had recently. Lately, I have been feeling suffocated by my perceived lack of options. Don't roll your eyes! I know this sounds dramatic and I know things could be worse, and that somewhere puppies are fighting and STARVING! I know this, just bear with me, NYC.
Anyway, for one to feel like he has no options means that he has a general idea of the options he seeks. And this is why I'm an idiot. I can't complain because I have no fucking idea what I seek. On a daily basis, I feel like anything would be better than this. But then, if I'm given an option I think 'Do you I really want that?' 'Certainly, I can endure the misery longer-it's not that bad', 'Maybe I should wait it out'. What is the deal with me, NYC? Is this a case of me not seeing the good in something until I am given an out or have I fallen prey to Stockholm Syndrome? Please figure this out and get back to me. I need you.

Forever love,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-11-05T15:11:00.002-05:00

"go well and go peacefully. we can't keep your majesty, be on your way"-Natalie Merchant

Today, I was inspired to look my neighbors in the face.

Loftily yours,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-10-23T16:53:00.005-04:00

I'm walking through a crowded area and two men pass me. Both of their faces are substantially different and don't remind me of anyone I know. For some reason, I combine their features and melt their faces into one and realize that together, they look like my dad.

It's nice because I haven't seen him awhile.

xo
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-10-20T16:49:00.004-04:00

Sometimes, I can think of nothing better than the smell of spearmint gum and blow-dried hair. It reminds me of when my aunt and I would take trips to feed the ducks at a nearby pond. On the car ride she would roll the windows down and turn The Pointer Sisters up. Still today, this inverse relationship impacts my senses and my inability to hide my excitement.

I hope this letter finds you well, NYC.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-09-17T10:49:00.005-04:00

Oh..my dear friend, I'm sorry so much time has passed since I last wrote. Since then, I have chased balls around a tennis court and celebrated the beginning of my 29th year on this planet. I got your e-card..it was cute, thanks!

Anyway, I have a few ideas for the next MTA campaign promotion and I want to run them by you. They're in the same school of thought as 'if you see something, say something'. Here they are:

'If you see someone standing up and reading a newspaper or a book on a uncomfortably crowded train (one so crowded that you(I) cannot even lift your(my) hand to scratch your(my) nose), biff him/her'

OR, for the audience of people lucky enough to be a seated on such a train, this:

'Get your butt off my shoulder'

Abrazos fuerte,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-08-20T17:23:00.005-04:00

Do you read 'shit' when you see the words 'shall' and 'sit' next to one another?

I don't either.

Un Beso,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-08-19T09:07:00.004-04:00

I'm starting to notice that the heavy shadows of the sun are running down the thighs of your buildings earlier now. Can you hear Fall's expanding applause for Summer's encore? I can.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-08-13T13:38:00.005-04:00

I was searching through my hard drive and found this IM conversation we had back when I was in college.

thewoobs14: duuuuudeeee
yo'nyc: hey whassup?
thewoobs14: not much, just working on a paper for Sister Fat's class.
yo'nyc: hey! she is a nun-be nice. i hope you haven't called her that in front of anyone else.
thewoobs14: maybe i have, maybe i haven't. but honestly, she has been put on this earth to terrorize my hard work. she wrote 'awk' at the top of one of my papers. she couldn't even write the full word 'awkward'. that's a jerk-move.
yo'nyc: no excuse.
thewoobs14: whatev. anyway, do you know how badly i wish i could get my pants to stay up when i belt them directly below my butt? they constantly fall down.
yo'nyc: it's an art. only some of us can master :o)
thewoobs14: do i have to adjust my walk? i've tried everything!!
yo'nyc: the answer will be revealed to you when you are ready, young scribe.
thewoobs14: knock knock
yo'nyc: who's there?
thewoobs14: you're an asshole :oP

You haven't changed one bit, NYC and I love ya for it.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-08-08T14:23:00.004-04:00

I have a special place in my heart for the middle-American Abercrombie kids, who flock to your main tourist attractions. They're so wonderfully coordinated. Where do you a get a hemp necklace these days, anyway?

Much love,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-08-07T09:05:00.007-04:00

Hey Pal. I woke up feeling a little crummy this morning and have been dragging those crumbs around with me all day. I'm overwhelmed with the realization that with each passing day, I'm more of a spectator than a participant of things that inspire me. At the same time, I am more of a participant in the things that make me feel incomplete. I can't be specific or explain what that even means. I just know I hate days like this.

I have this fantasy wherein each day I paint the bottoms of my shoes a different color, so that over time my footsteps route a map on your surface. My expectation and my fear are a conundrum; that the colors would layer themselves to black, each footfall the same as the day before.

Keeping it real,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-07-28T17:19:00.003-04:00

Absolute Truth: I have never pressed an elevator button that has already been pressed.

Motherfuckers, do you think the elevator will arrive sooner because you hit the button two times in rapid succession? I just hit the button, and you saw me do it. Why would you press it again? And you couldn't even look at me! You may as well leave a horse-head in my bed or pants me in front of my sixth grade gym class. Coward.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-07-23T09:43:00.003-04:00

How are you? I've been writing so much about me lately, I haven't asked about you. I'm sorry about that. So.....

Anyway, something happened yesterday that has me wondering about my eternal salvation. I got an email from my mother that was titled: "Catholic online: Mary, Mother of God". And I shit you not NYC, the email WOULD NOT OPEN. I clicked on it, and nothing happened. I got a pop-up box telling me there was an error. Click. Error. Click. Error. So, like a good Catholic, I began justifying and came up with the following probable explanations: Firstly, my place of employment uses Lotus Notes, which if you've never used it is the oldest and slowest way to make e-communication happen. Legit dust shoots out of the computer when I hit send. Secondly, my mother types 'Yahoo' into the Google search bar to get to her email. No further explanation necessary. Thirdly....well, fourthly and fifthly....and that one, sixthly. Seventhly totally didn't count. That alone counts as a confession, right?

In conclusion, I blame Lotus Notes.

Muah,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-07-16T13:26:00.002-04:00

Today is a good day for two reasons:

1) My hair has extra bounce and curl, rather than the usual atmosphere of frizz that swarms my dome this time of year.

2) My underwear are loose, and my stride isn't forcing them to maneuver themselves into origami swans. Buttocks, pants and unders are in unison! Rejoice!

I love these types of unexpected pleasantries.

Love always,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-06-20T10:21:00.003-04:00

CC: American Psycho looking guy who sat across from me on the LIRR.

Just because YOUR eyes are closed when you scratch your balls, doesn't mean that MINE don't see you doing it.

I also want to wish you the best with that incessant foot-tapping. Clearly, you were put on this earth so someone (I don't know who) can punch you in the face.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-06-19T17:08:00.004-04:00

As I approached a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, I reached into my bag and pulled out a leftover peach to place in his soiled hand. As he smiled and blessed me, I hesitated before telling him that the fruit was unwashed. Then I marched myself directly into a cement wall. Twice.

Love,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-06-05T15:10:00.004-04:00

I was sitting on a park bench eating a ham sandwich, when I noticed that the woman sitting across from me was nearing the end of a novel; mouth agape, eyeballs frantic. She only had a small pinch of pages left, so I waited for her to finish because I wanted to see the expression on her face when she turned the back-cover closed. While I waited and chewed, I thought about the emotions I conjure when reaching the end of a novel, and concluded that it's usually a melancholy experience. I re-focused on my lunchtime friend, who was now tracing the words line by line with her finger. Seeing her do this made me feel anxious with anticipation. I suddenly felt unprepared to see the effects of a story's end happen across her face. I didn't want to be the first representation of 'real' when her glance left her lap. I quickly gathered my belongings and hurried along leaving her in rapture. When I got several steps away I turned to look back and saw as she sneezed into the book's open pages. I sighed relief and continued back to work, saved.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-05-21T17:04:00.004-04:00

Why is it that hearing the accents of people from Canada or the Midwest make me want to eat meatloaf and mashed potatoes? I also become overwhelmed with desire for a glass of whole milk. And a smart shoe.

You too?
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-05-14T16:31:00.003-04:00

At the next 'Big City Town Hall Meeting' can you please bring up the issue of open-mouthed breathers? Particularly those in close proximity to my person? Perhaps Bloomberg can put his weight behind a municipal bond that would keep these offenders away from me.

Oh and one more thing, backpacks on wheels. Why?

I'm sorry to complain. I just want to see you change for the better.

Big love,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-05-12T16:50:00.007-04:00

Sometimes I want to drink a toast to you with a nice red at a cozy Italian restaurant in the West Village, and later present you with a mix tape of our favorite songs.

Other times I don't want to be anywhere near you. I experience feelings of detestation so seemingly insurmountable that I feel as though we are looking at each other from opposite sides of the San Andreas Fault. Must there be all those bodies standing so near me?! Is that smell necessary?!! Really? Ugh!

I'm pretty sure it's normal for me to feel this way though. John Tesh says (and I'm paraphrasing) that it's okay to express negative emotion as long as it's constructive and accompanied by something positive.

This is healthy. I'm sure of it.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-05-01T17:09:00.003-04:00

Hey! Yesterday, I was walking uptown on Broadway from my office by Wall St. and there were two very specific things I noticed about my fellow walkers:

1) Eating Doritos with thumb and pointer finger ONLY is common even among large burly men. It is important to note that it is even common to have the remaining three digits cocked sky-ward.

2) I laughed to myself several times upon passing a man or woman who was in the middle of expressing disdain via some variation of the word "Fuck".

Miss you,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-04-25T13:11:00.010-04:00

With Mother's Day fast approaching, I feel it's only appropriate to provide you with a small motherly anecdote. Feel free to do the same for me about your mother (Albany?). Sometimes my mother imparts such naked bluntness on a situation that I'm literally staggered by its exactitude. Prepare yourself, NYC.

SCENE 1:
(The Woobs and Mother sit in the dimly-lit kitchen finishing up dinner, when their 1-year old Labrador proudly struts in displaying an un-earthed slipper.)

THE WOOBS: Who's a good boy? Who is? You are! That's right it's you!!

MOTHER: I can't believe how fast he's growing.

THE WOOBS: I know, it really seems like he is bigger and bigger every day. His body looks like it's growing faster than his legs.

MOTHER: He looks like 10 lbs. of shit in a 5 lb. bag.

END SCENE.

Peace and Love,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-04-16T12:23:00.007-04:00

Spotted: A boy of about 15 years, in a blue hoodie and matching blue jeans, holding a Rubik's Cube with only it's blue-side completed.

NYC, if I were half the Woobs I claim to be, I would have thrown my turkey sandwich at him as punishment for being so....blissfully, bluefully, ignorant to his irony. Instead, I simply watched him leave his seat and out of my sight. Forever.

TTFN,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-03-28T14:23:00.004-04:00

I just saw an orange-haired woman calmly striding down Wall St. She walked with her arms behind her back and her index fingers looped together. The day is so grey and cold that I was instantly struck with how vulnerable she was making herself by walking through your streets that way. As quickly as that thought crossed my mind, it was countered with the thought that she probably felt free.

Have a great weekend,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-03-16T17:06:00.001-04:00

"When all of life is a blur, you are my truest definition"

Thanks for that.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-03-13T09:50:00.004-04:00

I'm curious about too short people, specifically of the gentle kind, who wear too short pants.

Also, I was laughing to myself today because I remembered when you mentioned how funny it was that one could go days or weeks without having seen his or her own butt. So true!

I miss your voice.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-02-01T19:48:00.000-05:00

Holy smokes! It's been a long time.

I'm writing to talk about double-standards.

I find it both repulsive and curious when a grown man brushes (with a brush) his hair in public.

I find it endearing and appropriate when a woman brushes blush across her cheeks on a commuter train.

Best to you,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2008-01-09T11:25:00.000-05:00

From the maple syrup melodies
to the cacophonic tones
She's the foremost inspiration
to pen a story of my own.

Thank you Miss Merchant. And thank you, NYC, for having her.

Respectfully,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-12-12T21:32:00.000-05:00

An unsent letter from July:

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Dear NYC,
Today, it was 107 degrees in your subway tunnels. While I stood on the platform waiting for the 1 train, I remembered that my underwear were patterned with images of Christmas trees.
I win.

Happy Holidays,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-11-29T11:34:00.000-05:00

This morning, while making my daily jaunt across the threshold from eager to jaded, I mistakenly used my debit card to gain access through the subway turnstile. After my body slammed into the crossbar, which subsequently caused a five-commuter pile up behind me-I furrowed my brow, took a step back and swiped it again. My debit card. And again, slammed my body into the crossbar- this time in defiance of the reality of the situation. You see, NYC, I filled my MetroCard yesterday so I knew it wasn't my fault. I looked to the little "turnstile-swipe window thing" for some kind of clue as to what was going on. You know the one that tells you: 'insufficient fare' or 'please swipe at this turnstile again' or 'yo mamma's so fat..' The window was blank-no words of wisdom to guide me through the situation.
Long story short, by the time I figured out that I'm an idiot-all the commuters at the turnstile had vacated but one. I looked at the lady behind me, and because she was older and drew her own eyebrows on her head, I figured she would be kind enough to pardon me for my mistake. In other words, I walked blindly into a commuter trap. I lifted my debit card in the air, gave a chuckle and said "whoops". You know what she did, NYC? She did nothing-just looked at me with stale eyes and coffee lips, void of emotion. I quickly stepped out of her way and fished in my bag for the correct form of entry. To prove that I was no subway beginner, I caught up to eyebrow lady on the platform and made sure she saw as I stepped to the platform's edge, craned myself sideways, and peered down the tunnell to see if the train was coming. Then I turned to her gave her a right good stink eye.

The end.

The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-11-28T15:06:00.001-05:00

So far today has been wonderful, and it promises to get even better. I know this because I can practically hear the whitening trays squishing up onto the grills of Matt, Al, Anne and Meredith as they prepare to kick off the holiday season. Tonight's Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony is just what I needed, NYC. Your streets are bustling and honestly, the only way for me to feel that I'm part of the pulse of your yule tide is to thrust myself into holiday fuckingawesomeness and be there tonight.

I'm sorry to RSVP so late-I just learned what the word 'ephemeral' means and I think this will be my chance to use it in a sentence. How's this: " The city held it's breath as the darkness turned to light and reflected the ephemeral joys of the season on our faces." Or "Celine Dion was great! She rose from the ground in a cube of ice and with a high note, she splintered the icy mass and emerged unscathed" FYI- I just learned what 'unscathed' means too.

Xo,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-11-09T09:06:00.000-05:00

While walking past what I'm fairly certain was a pile of human feces, I thought "SHIT! I forgot to pay my cable bill."

Thanks for the reminder,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-11-08T12:54:00.000-05:00

Sitting on the subway, I looked up and saw a little girl slumped over, asleep in her mother's lap. I could tell they were poor because their clothes were tattered and the women's eyes were like coffins built for a life dealt a hand of hearts in world of clubs. The unbridled shittiness of this image was so overwhelming that I felt myself blinking away tears.
Just then, the song on my iPod changed from "The Living" by Natalie Merchant to The Game's "Hate It or Love It". Feeling a bit of relief from the change in melody, I crossed my Anne Taylor-clad legs, took a sip of my grande low fat, double-shot cappuccino, and knew that everything was going to be ok.

Fondly,
The Woobs

Dear NYC,

2007-11-02T21:15:00.000-04:00

You're kind of like the dirty rabbit's foot that sits in the bottom of my purse; I worry that if I get rid of you, all hell will break loose.

I'm only telling you because you asked.

Abrazos,
The Woobs