PST

Pacific
I've kept my Blackberry on West Coast time to mind those whom I love. I glance at it, see the hour and wonder about my friends. Some are waking, some are resting, some work, some play. All are in my thoughts.

Standard
Monday morning, my best friend since the age of 9 and I went to the jewelry district to see a man named Leigh. He sells antique engagement rings and Vera was interested in resetting a diamond of her grandmother's. It's a funny coincidence that she and I both wear diamonds passed down through the women in our family. De Beers would be disappointed.

In the netting of streets located around 47th and Madison, jewellers abound with velvet trays. Bracelets shine, necklaces sway, rings sit with their stones sparkling up towards our curious eyes. In Leigh's office, he produced 6 or 7 trays full of settings. Some had diamonds in them, some were empty, their prongs like the beaks of small birds, open and ready for a faceted feeding. Vera chose her setting and we set out with one of the assistants to see a slew of men with dirty fingers and rusted tools. Each specialized in a particular step of the process. Ivan sized the ring, sawing a section out and welding it to the specifications of Vera's finger. Hye reset the stone and secured the diamond of Vera's past into the platinum of Vera's present. Gabe polished the finished product and onto Vera's hand it went. They all wore wedding bands and the unimpressed expressions of jaded men who have seen many pretty things.

Time
Lunch. At Certe with a commodities trader. At the door was a tray of brownie cubes. The one I snuck was delicious. For my meal I had vegetarian lasagna with a side of grilled vegetables - zucchini, asparagus and red bell pepper. The lasagna was creamy with spinach pasta sheets stuffed with asparagus, mushrooms, eggplant, broccoli, tomatoes and cheese. For dessert, a small cup of tres leches cake. And another brownie cube on the way out the door. For braving the elements.

The commodities trader couldn't seem to understand what the appeal of New York was for me. I had to explain the food, the culture, the stimulation, the rituals. He lives in an enormous condo in Jersey with his wife. Neither of them seem to like these things and we reached an impasse after I tried to defend myself for about 5 minutes. We stopped in on his office and I poked around the spreadsheets on his desk. It didn't seem to matter if it were film ultimates or gold trades, it was boring.

As we left him to his work, I examined a sculpture in the lobby of the building and read its accompanying plaque. It was created by a German artists whose work has appeared at the Guggenheim and MOCA in Los Angeles. I stared at the recycled metal pieces. I admired it. The commodities trader looked at Vera and proclaimed that in the 3 years that he has worked at the company, he had never once stopped to look at the sculpture. Suddenly the difficulty of my lunchtime defense of New York became clear.

From there, Vera and I walked about 30 blocks to the Met which unfortunately was closed. Mondays. I made note. We cut through Central Park and encountered a woman with her baby and their dog. We asked directions and as she spoke, the baby, in his baby holder, moved his arms and legs like a bouncing starfish she wore as a badge. He was a serious baby. I guessed that his father was a very serious man and that his mother was the spicier of the two. She smiled, agreed and we said goodbye. Vera seemed to think I was bothering her. She said that people may just be polite sometimes and that I shouldn't be so chatty. I like to give myself credit for the ability to read people. I think perhaps I misread Vera.

Dinner. We took the train to the Village to meet with a real estate man. Another friend of Vera's. Another man with a wife and a disbelief in my move. We ate at Lombardi's and ordered Caesar salad and a sausage and mushroom pie for the three of us. Crunchy soft pizza dough, spicy sausage and a hit of sweet onion. I couldn't have it any other way again.

After dinner, Vera and I headed to the Bowery Ballroom to see Chromeo. The concert was the key reason my dear friend had come to visit and we rocked out to 80s electrofunk as my brand new boots got scuffed under the heels of hipsters doing likewise. I watched Vera laugh with glee as song after song hit her ears. I smiled as she enjoyed herself. I cried on the inside for the ruined leather on my feet.

Following the concert, we stopped in on one of the ibankers from the previous night. The rent for his midtown studio is the same as our 3 bedroom apartment in Harlem. Morgan Stanley must be a kind man. Vera and he caught up further as I stood in his walk-in closet and pulled an accounting book from the shelf. I cracked it open at his desk and began reading about this mysterious study which entices so many people as the foundation of where money is tallied. I borrowed the book as the ibanker cocked his head and told me to call him if I had any questions. Questions, yes. I think I will have many. The main one though is why do these people have such a hard time believing that I could just up and move to this glorious island?