And what’s with the medic offer? Do they know something I don’t? Should I be looking ALL ways when I go to cross the street, and not just left and right? (Although, have you ever looked both ways on a one way street? Don’t you feel a little stupid afterward? Maybe that’s what Jeff’s getting at here…)

Regardless, I’m getting a little paranoid here.

What if I want to apply for a job that says to send in your resume and tell about your writing experience; do I send samples of stuff I’ve written to amuse myself? Do I send a link to my blog that tells all about my cuddly, happy, safe and decidedly G-rated life – no apologies here, I’m just saying – do I send that in with this resume?

Dude, I do not know. But I do know that whoever wrote the piece on the the price of ‘Wheel of Fortune’ vowels skyrocketing – I want to work with that person. Hi-lar-ious.

“Aries: When opportunity knocks, you have got to answer — whether you’re dressed or not!”

Duly noted.

My full name is Tai Li Anderson – and I’m a girl. Thank you very much.

I don’t know how many times I have to reiterate this. Every time I get junk mail for some kind of – ahem – enhancement, or free address stickers from Audubon addressed to Mr. Tai Anderson, I go through a bit of a crisis about my name. There’s a Christian rocker who is named Tai Anderson – a male one, although I’ll bet you already assumed that. And I bet he doesn’t get things addressed to Miss Tai Anderson, which is just not fair.

Granted, as life problems go, this is fairly minor. It’s a Chinese name, and I have pictures of me in San Francisco’s Chinatown standing under a big Tai character. I’d post it, but it was taken right after I tore a hole in the front of my shirt on a mailbox, and in looking at the photo it turns out the hole was bigger than I thought. Anyway, the other day, I ordered in Chinese food – such a New York thing to do, I know. It’s so frustrating though, because good Chinese food is HARD to find in this city that supposedly has everything. I guess I should just be happy that I have found good Thai food (I’m not gonna go there, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either).

Anyway, the point here is that with my very mediocre Chinese food delivery came the following complimentary packet of tea: YES, IT HAS MY NAME ON IT!

I am such a huge cliche right now. I’m sitting at a little table at my corner Starbucks, in New York City, and I’m blogging. The only way it could be worse is if I were blogging about Brooklyn design or green living, or both. Oh, and if you threw in a couple of cute ceramic owls, or some whimsical gold jewelry that was handcrafted by a crafty girl from Illinois in her garage/studio that she sold on Etsy. That way it would be worse. Actually, that might bump up my readership – ha. But, no, I shall forebear, and hold off on the Brooklyn/eco/owl/Etsy extras in an attempt to not go completely overboard.

Why would a good Mormon girl be sitting in the den of coffee-soaked iniquity that is Starbucks, you ask? I have one simple answer – for the wifi. Also, I’m ashamed to admit that they have a pretty good soundtrack going on right now. No, mother, I am not drinking coffee. But I did just have a rather tasty turkey sandwich.

I’m a week away from California, where I am spending the summer. I’ve been assured by certain people that New York in the summer time is the best time of all, and that I’m a fool to want to escape it. I’ve assured these same people that if they’d seen my hair on a hot humid day they’d understand. The thing is, I can’t handle the heat, and I can’t handle the humidity, and I can’t handle the smell. Which makes me a fake New Yorker, I know, and I am duly ashamed of myself. However, you have not seen what happens to my hair in the humidity. I have no photographic evidence of what my hair looks like because no one wants to be associated with me during such times. I call it the ghost-fro – wherein my hair retains it normal, long, slightly wavy hippie look, but with these little frizzies that curl up several inches all over my head – creating a halo that is anything but angelic. It’s as though I used to have a ‘fro, and I tried to straighten it, but the spirit of the ‘fro refused to give it up. Just. Can’t. Handle. It.

I am sad to be leaving New York City – and even though it’s just for the summer I already know the things that I’m gonna miss. I’m going to miss this, for one, the fact that I can just sit here on my computer for hours on end in the middle of all these people. I’ll miss the amazing freedom of completely anonymity while being surrounded by literally millions of people. I’m gonna miss the fact that the lady sitting over there looks just like Jerry Springer in drag, and that no one seems to care. I’m going to miss the cab drivers that give me advice on life, the old ladies on the bus that squawk at each other (and everyone else) in their thick New York accents, and how I’ll miss the energy. New York has a lifeblood to it that is like no other place I’ve ever lived in before. People ask me what my favorite part of New York is, wanting me to given them a street name, or coordinates of some kind – but I can’t. My favorite moments in New York have been undefineable, fleeting moments of deep-breath-satisfaction – and the only thing that any of them have had in common is that when they occured I was walking along the streets of New York City. I once saw this thing on PBS about spiritual places, vortexes if you will, where the mind, body and spirit seem to be more intuned to each other. You know the feeling I’m talking about – when you are standing on the edge of something tall and grand, or at the edge of some great body of water – it’s a feeling of vastness, openness, and connectedness. You become aware of the earth as a living thing, and you as part of it. New York City is that way for me, in a lot of ways. Not always of course, but in those moments when I’m walking down the street and my spirit soars inexplicably – I am pretty sure that it’s because somehow I am aware of the city as a living thing, and that I feel a part of it. It’s a strange thing to associate such an industrialized, urban thing with nature like that – but for me, it does the trick.

So that’s what I’ll miss – that and the little cafes that I love to spend a Friday afternoon in, just writing. I’ll miss the Met, and my little corner by the naked statues. I’ll miss the bookstores – oh, how I’ll miss the bookstores. The vast, four story ones with EVERYTHING, and the tiny ones that you don’t expect, that have books you’ve never even considered before. I’ll miss Riverside Park, and how it’s really more of a neighborhood park. I’ll miss the amazing restaurants with their cute waiters (at Babbo and Celeste, specifically, although the dude at Rain the other night was not bad either). I’m gonna miss getting dressed up every day – because New York is that kinda town. I’ll miss reading the New York Times’ local section, and knowing what it’s talking about. I’ll miss watching Law & Order and cheering when they’re questioning someone on the Upper West Side. And I will miss the catharsis of walking everywhere – even though I love the catharsis of driving.

But I’ll be back, people. Never you fear.