We had Thanksgiving in Long GUYland. For fun, we took a long, scenic drive down twisty turny roads. Mark's poor mom was crammed in the backseat of Clive, despite my pleading with her to trade places.
We are both Virgos, the sign of whiny self-sacrifice.
'No, really, I'd rather sit back there', I said.
'That's okay, you're taking pictures. It's my turn.' This conversation took place no less than four times.
To those who haven't had the joy of sitting in the back seat of a Mini Cooper, it is not terrible. It is a snug, reassuring fit that says 'you're not going anywhere'. The only trouble is getting out. The front seat slides forward a smidge, just enough space to dangle one leg out. How to then extract the rest of the body is sheer acrobatics.
The three of us had a simple dinner - stuffed cabbage, mashed potatoes and a purchased Napoleon cake that looked tastier than it was. It was only the three of us and without a turkey, it didn't feel like Thanksgiving. But there was more nostalgia than usual.
It was the 44th anniversary of Kennedy's assasination. Mark's mom had been outside the New York Public Library on 42nd Street, when she'd heard the news. We drank red wine. I saw wedding photos from 1965. There were real bouffant hairdos and gossip about those pictured - how their lives turned out, which ones might have been gay.
Mark and I drove home stuffed, without any traffic. In all, it was a nice night.
This morning, NY1 reported there were less than 500 murders in New York this year, the lowest in 40 years (woohoo). Pat Kiernan said that only 35 of those killed didn't know their killers. Hm. Somehow that does not make me feel safer.
While we're at the statistics, The New York Sun reported the average Manhattan weekly salary is the highest in the country, at $2,800, which is $1,000 more than second place, Fairfield County, Connecticuit. That's per week, folks, and it's the billionaires and Wall Street-ers that skew the average. $2,800 per week works out to just under $150,000 per year.
Hullo, this is an average!! Too bad that it wasn't clear if the population included non-working Manahattanites, like students, elderly folks squirreled in rent-controlled apartments, babies, and stay-at-homers.
But still. $2,800 per week means $560 per day, which is a lot. Not enough for one night in a 300 sf room at The Mercer ($630 a night), but enough for a lesser grade, $300 per night hotel and some fancy meals. Maybe just enough for a spacious apartment, a gym membership, nice meals out, a closet full of Jimmy Choos, cab rides home, a kid in a private school, a nanny. I'd have to do the math.
I guess I fall somewhere in-between - I stand an equal, distant chance between being murdered, as I do living the high life. Despite what people think, the architect's life is not a cushy one.
I am thankful that I don't have to worry about paying the rent, or my electric bill. I can feed a homeless cat as well as the one at home. I might not have a tremendous wardrobe, but I can live in the city of my dreams. At least for now.
Photos by myself, around Long Island.