The NYC pre-M1s Converge on St. Marks Place

Today I actually made some headway on packing up my apartment. As my village abode becomes increasingly stark, the sadder I get. I know I shouldn't be, as I have an incredible apartment lined up in Iowa City and the experience of a lifetime ahead, but this 500 square-foot pad has "done me right" (as I (and my friends) like to say) for the past two years. As much as I look forward to returning to Iowa, NYC has become my home. I feel incredibly comfortable here. The unbridled love for everything different and the city's unquenchable desire for new life experiences makes this place a very fast-paced yet enriching environment. Anyway...look at my apartment!!

My living room, before the packing commenced.

My living room, partially packed (w/ mildly tacky yet appropriate
retro post-modern filter applied)

I don't know, it's tough seeing my cozy place transform into a paler version of what it once was. I suppose, in some ways, moving is a form of trauma: as you're required to uproot all of your earthly possessions, place them into boxes and relocate them in one fell swoop. It just feels abrupt, harsh, and, well, traumatizing. I know full well that my new place will become similarly dear to me, but it doesn't make the process easier.

So, to deal with the difficulty, I did what I always do. Shop. Today, I made my way to one of my favorite places in the city: Black Fleece. Something about this little haunt on Bleecker Street sooths me. The aesthetic of the clothing, the friendliness of the sales associates (who know me frighteningly well), and the fact that there's always something I just need to have, makes this place ideal for escaping whatever woe may be afflicting me. Even when my dad visited one time, we stopped by, and all the SAs treated my father SO nicely by proxy. Oy vey, I just love that place. I ended up walking out with a perfect beachside sailor's tee and braided red/white/blue belt.

My kind of patriotism. (Black Fleece at 351 Bleecker St., NY, NY 10014)

Anyway, I returned home to continue packing until I needed to get ready for happy hour with my fellow CCOM pre-M1s. As far as I know, there are four of us in the city this summer. And, naturally, I needed to get all of us together. So, I coordinated a little shindig at 10 Degrees Bar, known for its generous 2-for-1 happy hour special. So, wearing my new duds from Black Fleece, I trekked over to 10 Degrees on St. Marks Place. Sweating the entire way, as NYC heat and humidity are at its zenith this time of year.

Anyway, they were awesome. Despite the fact that I had met two of the three individuals before meeting today, all three were amazing people. I can't wait for all of us to begin our medical training in Iowa City. I wanted to capture a photograph, but no such luck. As I see it, it merely means we'll need to snap a photo at a med school party in Iowa City, memorializing our NYC socialization sesh. Hopefully my mild inebriation didn't leave me too garrulous, as sometimes I can be unintentionally overwhelming (my friend Ralph echoing in my head, "as Coco Chanel said, 'less is always more!'"). :-/

I wanted to stay longer, but I had plans to get oysters at Fish (in the West Village) with my good friend, the aforementioned Ralph. So, I rather abruptly said my goodbyes and began my sweaty, disgusting, arduous East-West traverse of Manhattan's Greenwich Village. Dinner was great, although the oysters at this particular joint were sloppily shucked and were not consistently seasoned with vinegar. So, while Ralph and I heatedly discussed the goings-on in our lives, we imbibed the house white and criticized the oysters.

After dinner was finished, I then began my trek up to the Upper East Side to try Aperol Spritzers at my friend Steve's place. By the time I arrived, I was already a little tipsy, but that, of course, didn't stop me. I had done a little research beforehand, and given my predilection for Campari, I knew a lesser intense, yet still bitter apéritif would be a perfect way to end the day. I've seen Aperol on bar shelves for years, but I've never actually tried it. It was delicious. Steve preferred the drink a little more heavy on the prosecco, while I preferred it a little more heavy on the Aperol. Regardless, the orange slice, and the pleasant carbonation of the prosecco, mixed with the bitter tanginess of the Aperol, was a perfect day closer.

Aperol, and the famed spritzer

So, after parting ways, I had the usual dilemma of choosing whether the subway or taxi would be the most acceptable means of transportation. When in doubt, cab it! So, I jumped into a cab on 2nd Ave and E 89th. The heavily-accented, loquacious Indian cab driver wanted to talk the entire 15 minute cab ride about how smart I was for hailing at that particular intersection. I naturally started ruminating on this observation philosophically. Was my hailing a cab at that intersection a metaphor for my life? Have I put myself in the best position possible to succeed? I like to think yes, but I don't really think I've done it intentionally. So, I sat there thinking, "On this day I met some future classmates. They symbolize the beginning of a new chapter in my life. By some miracle I've put myself here. I'm just going to go with it!"

Here's to the exciting times ahead! It's going to be an amazing journey!

Tschüss!