A Helluva Town

It took twenty years, but I'm finally back in New York - part-time at least. In case you haven't heard otherwise, Floyd and I bought an apartment in Manhattan with my father, so it's ours six months a year. We'll continue to be bi-coastal until further notice.

I'm here alone for two months because of Sherman the Wonder Dog. After we nearly lost him in 2008, the vet gave the Sherminator less than a year to live. So we bought a NY apartment that doesn't take pets. Why would we want to live with people who don't like animals? Two words: the view.



So Floyd and I are trading off. I got to go first to drum up work to pay for this new lifestyle. It's not that my career has been in the toilet necessarily, but it has been resting its head on the cool porcelain trying to get up. Since I arrived here, I've been rigorously networking, feeding off the energy of the city and its high-octane people.

I've also been riding my bike, which frightens everyone who knows me. My 72-year-old father brought it in from Jersey and rode it over to the apartment from Port Authority. "You might want to get the brakes checked," he said, almost as an afterthought. Of course, he'd ridden here uphill. The first day I took it out, I headed downhill in the opposite direction, only to discover the brakes didn't work at all. I had to stop myself with my feet like Fred Flintstone.

Turns out, too, that New Yorkmagazine ranked our neighborhood, Murray Hill (hence the downward slope), the most conservative in the city. We have the fewest number of gay people (4%) and the fewest Obama supporters (36%). Anytime I'm in my building's elevator with two other people I figure they both voted for McCain.

That said, we were ranked #8 most livable in New York, one of only two Manhattan neighborhoods to make the list.

And did I show you the view?