Since New York City weather is about as predictable as a coked up manic depressive, I decided to soak up the sunshine and take a long walk. It always cracks me up how fast the get-out-of-my-way-you-jackass-NY’er mentality changes when the sun comes out. It’s as if less-than-perfect weather gives us license to be total assholes. I am sure there is some serotonin/dopamine/norepinephrine/melatonin medical explanation for this, but personally, I think it’s kinda F’d up. Take today, for instance……there was a woman with triplets that I estimated to be around 3 or so. These 3 boys (seriously….my worst nightmare…..triplet boys. That would be like Jesus playing a cruel, cruel joke on me) were punching each other, throwing sippy cups at random passerby’s, letting out blood curdling screams, and kicking wildly all while this poor woman was pushing the stroller, talking on her cell phone, picking up her dog’s poop, and feeding them animal crackers. I mean normally, this NY woman would be in the middle of an all-out nervous breakdown, but today she was smiling proudly as her Rosemary’s-baby-children bit each other and pelted an old woman with their shoes. I don’t know….maybe because sunshine encourages exercise which releases endorphins which makes us less miserable which prevents us from multiple suicide attempts? Who can be sure?
Anyway, so I was walking along happy as a pig in shit, when I am enveloped with the overwhelming scent of marijuana. I look behind me and there is this attractive, well-kept business man wearing a very expensive suit smokin’ a doobie right smack in the middle of the upper west side. I mean….just walkin’ along in broad daylight on 72nd street puffin away with a shit-eating-grin on his face. Even more interestingly, I looked back and didn’t really think much of it. Then it immediately occurred to me that only in New York would it really not register that a functioning adult using an illegal narcotic in the middle of a busy street at 3PM is probably not normal. How much weird shit have we seen on a daily basis here to not bat an eye at this?
I also find it funny that it strikes me as odd when I meet a New Yorker NOT in therapy and/or on some sort of mood stabilizer. Here is a recent conversation I had with a friend;
Me: “Ugh, I think I need a therapist I’m totally depressed lately”
Medicated friend: (not missing a beat) “ask for Wellbutrin, Effexor, Paxil, Celexa, or Zoloft….those are a few that have worked for me this year.
Me: (raises eyebrow)”Oh…is that all?”
Medicated friend: “No, but I don’t remember the names of the other ones off-hand.”
So then the logical question is why on earth do people want to live in a city where they need copious amounts of Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors simply to make it through the day without killing themselves? And the answer is simple…..to live in a city where you can smoke pot in broad daylight on an afternoon stroll while simultaneously walking a dog and waving to your neighbors.
So, I was watching Laguna Beach reruns on the N Network last night and found myself A) Feeling jealous of 17 year olds, B) Realizing it’s sad that I was feeling jealous of 18 year olds, and C) Realizing it’s sadder that I was watching the “N-network for teens” at 29 than it was to be feeling jealous of them.
