The hills are alive ...

I was in NYC today. I go there at least once a year for the same reason old people do crosswords. It keeps me sharp. I don't ever want to forget how to navigate the streets or the subways. In fact, I not-so-secretly want the kids to live there after college. That way, I'll always have a place to crash after hitting the bars. Who cares that Mike and I will be trolling the East Village in our late 50s? Our kids perhaps, but certainly no one else in New York. Unfortunately, Madan's not biting. We had a bout of traffic getting to my parents' house from LaGuardia last Friday and he's since adamantly sworn off the city. Forever.

"I NEVER WANT TO COME HERE AGAIN! EVER!!!"

Good thing Kaila's still in her formative years.

"Kaila, you'll still live in the City for me, right? I'll come visit you all the time!"

"Yeah, Mama! That'll be fun!"

Good girl.

To get my groove back, I ventured into The Big Apple today and met some fun friends for lunch. They wondered what it was like for me to visit. Was it still exciting? Was the smell overpowering? After all these years, was the lure of the city still there or, had I finally outgrown it?

The best answer I can offer is this. The streets of NYC are to me, what the hills were to Judy Garland. And, I would have ran down Madison Flippin' Avenue, singing, arms outstretched, body twirling in a governess uniform if it weren't so damn hot today. Plus, the fact that every cabbie, MTA bus driver, food cart vendor, bike messenger and stroller-rolling nanny would have made it their mission to run me over. And, rightly so. NYC needs another Judy Garland impersonator like a hole in its head.

P.S. I ran into George Stephanopoulos near Lincoln Center. He gave me a weird look. Probably because my new hair-do is Joan Jett meets Kate Gosselin. I can see how that would be confusing to most people.