My pal Oscar got back to New York City last week after a year-long sojourn in Brazil. His trip was supposed to be one of those round-the-world, post-graduation affairs that a few lucky kids take on their parents' dime after they get out of school. You know the kind — the young man heads off in quest of enlightenment and adventure, keeps a journal in a tattered Mead composition book and drinks beer with beautiful people in secluded places. Instead, Oscar met one beautiful person, a Brazilian girl named Daniella, and his trip stopped short. He canceled the rest of his flights, took out a lease on a place in the little town where she lived, and started teaching English to local businessmen.
Oscar could have gone anywhere — the kid had tickets to go everywhere — and yet he stayed in this small town in Brazil. If she was there, then that's where he wanted to be.
Eventually, the girl broke his heart and his ma started clamoring for him to be back by Christmas. So Oscar packed his bags and came home.
He sounded a little overwhelmed when he called me last week. He said he kept forgetting where he was and speaking Portuguese, and even when he did spurt out the right language, his rusty English made him sound like a lost tourist. He said New York felt big, his house felt different, and that he didn't have anyone's numbers. That was all he really cared about — who was around.
I moved to Florida from New York two months ago. I'm told I'm not the first person to do that. But, if I understand the whole snowbird thing correctly, most New Yorkers who brave the sunshine are a bit over the age of 23. Folks usually come down here after they've made it — not before — and, so far, I've been happy bucking the trend.
But this weekend, after hearing Oscar go on about his New York return, I got homesick. With my friends tucked away in their winter coats up north, I figured my best shot for a cure would be a taste of New York culture. So I pulled myself out of bed Saturday morning, resisted the urge to watch college basketball all day and set out to find a slice of NYC in St. Pete.
I started with a matinee performance of The Santaland Diaries at American Stage. What could be more New York than David Sedaris (or the guy playing him) making fun of the poor schmucks who work as elves at Macy's? Diaries has it all — a wiseass protagonist, wide-eyed tourists and pissed-off guys from Queens.
But before I even got inside, I knew I wasn't exactly home. When I sidled up to the box office and asked for a student discount on the $25 ticket (no, I am not a student, and yes, I still carry my college ID for just such an occasion), the lady behind the desk told me there was no such thing. "But," she said, "we do have a couple give-backs if you'd like one of those."
I wasn't quite sure what I was hearing. A give-back? What the hell is a give-back? I didn't say anything at first, just stood there looking baffled. But then she slid a ticket under the window. "You mean," I hesitated, "this is free?"
Now I know capitalism doesn't stop at the Mason-Dixon, but there must be a shift in the philosophy somewhere. In New York, if you walk up to anyone and appear to be willing to pay for something, you're gonna shell out.
So I took my seat (in the front row no less) and watched the show. It was a one-man deal, an hour-long monologue ripping on everyone from Santa to Phil Collins. It seemed pretty good to me; the guy had the early bird crowd laughing throughout, but then, my theater experience is limited. The only shows I've ever seen were on those particular Friday nights in New York when my mom would work late and my dad needed some company. Without him around, making his half-insightful, half-bullshit critiques, it just wasn't the same.
As I was leaving, a friend called and invited me to an art show that night. This was shaping up to be quite the cosmopolitan Saturday.
I know even less about art than I do about theater, but again, the stuff at the Bohemian Art Movement show seemed pretty good to me. The location — an old warehouse just north of I-275 on First Avenue S. in St. Pete — could've passed for the Meatpacking District. Before I even walked inside I had my doubts — I'm not sure you can be bohemian if you label yourself as such — but despite the band playing Oasis covers, the scene was comfortingly familiar.
The people were good-looking and over-dressed, just like they are at galleries in Chelsea. There was free wine, gourmet sandwiches and young hipsters chain-smoking in the alley out back. And, like a pack of well-trained New Yorkers, the minglers had perfected the art of sizing each other up without getting caught.
And just like back home, I was happy to leave after 20 minutes. I headed to a co-worker's party for a beer.
My friend Leah, who also just moved down here, is having some trouble with the transition. "There's no culture," she says, "it's just so small." Leah moved for her career, and even though she has a kick-ass job, she's always talking about getting out. "I'm going to have to start seeing a shrink again," she told me the last time we talked.
But my guess is that it's not a lack of culture that'll drive Leah to the couch — it's that she doesn't have her people down here. It might be on a smaller scale, but there's plenty of action in Tampa Bay — just keep flipping through this paper. It's not the scene that makes you love a place — it's your people.
I never took full advantage of New York, but neither do most New Yorkers. Everyone appreciates what's there, but they build their lives around friends and family, not the latest Broadway opening. I'm no different — I should've known that I wasn't going to feel at home by going to a play or a fussy art show. This weekend, when I was looking for home, I was really just looking for my people (and happily, I'm beginning to find some).
That's why Oscar stayed in Brazil, because his girl was there. And that's why, when he got home last week and called me up, he didn't want to talk about the reopening of MOMA or some new underground band. He just wanted some phone numbers.max.linsky@weeklyplanet.com
This article appears in Dec 15-21, 2004.