Saturday, March 06, 2010

A Day in the West Indian Community

I am taking a day to celebrate a local festival with the Guyanese community. The reality is that a New Yorker has to be adaptable and culturally sophisticated. It is actually easier for me to go to functions in the various communities in NYC than for me to endure the monoculture of Northern Vermont.

I remember perplexed officers trying to figure out that I venture freely anywhere the winds take me. To my fellow officers in training eating at a Morrocan, Cuban or Jamaican joint is exotic. A NYC type with rare exception encounters the world in their backyard. There are those who stay in their culture, but I have always been free of spirit and heart.

I remember in Northern Vermont people taking me to a Thai restaurant and thinking it was exotic. The perplexed Northwind never grasped such things are common place in NYC. Even the odd alcohol I seldom touch is a NYC thing. I tried to explain that in NYC even our rednecks go to Art Museums and Broadway.

A NYC life is a journey into the unknown. Odd romances and friendships and the unpredictable vitality make for an interesting life. I roam the concrete canyons not knowing what adventure will bring tomorrow. Adventures that are routine to an old salt like Beakerkin are new to the Tranquil Sea and the Sprite.

Music wise I am still enjoying the Surfer rock bit. The Vegan next door says she expects Annette and Frankie to pop out of my door any second. As much as I love my neighbors from the West Indies I will keep the Surfer Rock. There is nothing quite like working with the Ventures in the distance.

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