Dear NYC,

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,

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,

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,

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,

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,

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,

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