Despite (points to everything), my seasonal bummed-outedness (technical term) seems to be lifting. I credit a weekend hanging out in the city with Scott, although while we were there, we were like “thank God we don’t live here anymore.” To be fair, it was too cold to do much, and we spent a lot of that time on the subway, which is not quite the best the city has to offer. When we got to Grand Central there was a lone busker crooning Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”; we got on the subway, and at the connecting station there was a Guatemalan band playing … Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” I heard there was a secret chord, you say? I don’t think it’s a secret anymore!

On our way to Brooklyn, we saw a person enthusiastically chowing down on a Slim Jim and laughing uproariously at said Slim Jim. So that was fun. Plus: a trio of scruffy teenage boys in sweats talking about their favorite Broadway musicals. I heard one of them say “dope libretto, bro,” and when we got off the train we were talking about them and I was like, you heard that part about the libretto, right? Tell me you heard it? Scott had not, so maybe I imagined it? Only that’s less of a fun story, so no, I definitely did not imagine it.

I do feel increasingly elderly every time I visit the city, especially when we’re in Manhattan. It feels like the middle-aged (and up!) are tolerated in Brooklyn, allowed to roam freely about and eat at restaurants etc. but in Manhattan it’s unseemly. Unless you’re rich. (The rich, in case you were wondering, do not step foot in the subway.) We were staying by Lincoln Center, which is also where Juilliard is, and the subway station there was just teeming with lithe youngsters. Rude. We’re on the youngish side in our Hudson Valley neighborhood, and I like it that way. I’m the baby of the family! I’m a baby, do you hear me?! Stop reminding me of the inexorable march to-wards the grave!