In every civilization, there’s the indisputable marker of success.
In ancient Egypt, it was pyramids.
In ancient Greece, fancy togas (probably, right? I’m no scholar).
In New York, it’s frames.
Anywhere else, putting frames on the wall is ordinary. In New York, it’s a statement. Continue reading “Home Is The Place I Live”
‘Twas the season indeed.
There was tinsel. Presents. The ability to listen to *NSYNC’s Christmas album—arguably their best and most amazing work, ever (I mean, who could forget JC’s “O Holy Night”? Lance’s super deep and perfect “YOU” when he sang “The only gift I wanted was you”? And the sexual undertones and overtones of “Under My Tree”? They weren’t just talking about conifers, am I right?)—without judgment.
There was also home.
And for people living in New York City, a.k.a. land of the people from elsewhere, home is a familiar, comforting, and ever-so-frustrating place.
