Not Jimmy Breslin, But...

All the time I lived in New York, I never quite felt myself to be a New Yorker. New Yorkers all have this sixth sense of what it's all about. A savoir faire about them that I never managed to attain. When confronted with someone who really really had that in spades, I would retreat to a sort of Aw Shucks Country Boy In The City persona, peppering my speech with timeless sayings like, "I can't dance and it's too wet to plough" and "Lord willing and the creeks don't rise." Until Bill Clinton made that just way too obvious and grating.

But here I am, a country boy in the country.

And now, I'm aware of thhe extent to which I am a New Yorker.

Nothing major. No fuhgeddaboutits or anything. Just, y'know, some little things that crop up.

• I drive like a New Yorker. When the light turns green, my foot is already pushing down the gas pedal. And if the person in front of me isn't already moving at a good clip, I'm calling him or her every name in the book.

• And speaking of driving, I have a strong opinion about how to get from one place to another. Although it used to be "what you wanna do is take the Jackie Robinson, you know, the Interboro? And that puts your almost right there at the Whitestone Bridge and you can get right over there to the Bronx"; now it's more about "If you make a left onto Harvey Avenue and then turn right onto Union, it brings you out below that interminable light at Main and Court and the Courthouse crossing." Although now, the people whom I gift with my wisdom give me baffled looks instead of responding with their own take on the "Best" way to go.

• Even though I'm a tourist, I never look like a tourist, and within an hour of being in a foreign city, I am immediately acclimated. So much so that I can give fairly accurate directions to any tourist who asks. It's true! However, the downside is that when I am driving on highways and parkways and such in between said cities, I get really really lost.

• Even though I'm not looking for a new place to live, I'm always looking for a new place to live. When the subject of real estate comes up, I ask, "How much are you paying?" without even blinking. (I've been told that outside of NYC, this is considered rude. Like asking, "How much money do you make?" or "When was the last time you had sex?" But I do it anyway.) And if I get a reply, I immediately do the algorithm Monthly Cost ÷ Square Footage + View x Location, and know immediately if it's a good deal or if he or she has been had.

• Happy Holidays! I just know when Jewish holidays are being celebrated, even though I'm not Jewish. I know when Ramadan is being celebrated, even though I'm not Muslim. Same goes for Chinese New Year. The Hindu holidays I'm shakey on. (Alternate Side Of The Street Parking does that to you.)

• When asparagus is in season, and I go to the supermarket and don't find tender, fresh-picked, locally grown asparagus, I'm dumbfounded and outraged. I know my produce. I want my produce. I demand my produce.

• It's Sunday. It's 2 pm. It's time for brunch. Brunch is the best meal of the week. Whether your preference is eggs benedict or mahí mahí seviche or a cubano sandwich, life without brunch is a mistake.

• I've never worn the same uh... outfit... or ensemble... or whatever in public twice. Even to work. Especially to work.

• I have no problem striking up conversations with perfect strangers. I'm the guy that turns to the person behind me in the check out line and says, "Jennifer Aniston should just move on, right?" or "How can those Iraqis vote on a constitution that they've never read?"

It's been two years siince I've lived there. I still read the Times whenever I can. I'm looking forward to Mike Bloomberg's second term as Mayor, if only because New York has never had a mayor who made design one of his top priorities. But I am no longer constantly haunted by the suspicion that I've got somewhere to be in fifteen minutes (because there's nowhere I have to be). I'm moving to different rhythms, my expectations are lower, and I'm more susceptible to delight and surprise.

Huh.

I guess I'm a hybrid.

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