On my way to the gym via the Coinstar machine, I passed my across-the-hall-neighbor coming into the building. “What’s new and exciting?” I stared blankly for a moment, as I didn’t have an answer. “How about old and exciting?” I countered, knowing full-well that the “exciting” part was what was giving me trouble. He nodded knowingly, “You’d think that in New York something would be going on.” Aha! The “Oz Syndrome”! My soapbox was upstairs (my back has gone bad from schlepping it around all the time), so I muttered something nebulous about possible upcoming weekends out of town. We wished each other “goodnight” and continued on our respective ways.

If I were getting paid to write this essay, I’d look up the numbers from the latest census: how many people living in Manhattan grew up elsewhere, and came to The City to find a brain a heart a home da noive? New York may be new and exciting to new arrivals, but to me, it’s just Home. No more, but certainly no less. New and exciting? Haven’t a clue. It’s just how I laugh the day away.

Next time, I’m going to tell the truth; which, in this case, was that the high point of my day had been shopping for clothes I would buy tomorrow, when we start a “tax-free” week. And that the high point of my weekend had been the sunshine.