8th Wonder?

On Friday I saw one of the most amazing sights of my life. It was not the super moon, which came in a good strong second. It was the sight of 8.1 million New Yorkers with shit-eating grins on their faces. All of New York was in a good mood and, like the scene out of Ghostbusters, the mood was so pervasive it was as if the concrete was singing. The reason was that on Friday New York had its first glimpse of life after winter. On Friday, for one day only, it was 70 degrees and perfect.

I traveled up to New York, because a woman I met in Gulu who is producing a Hollywood film about Northern Uganda contacted me and asked me to meet her. I thought this seemed like a good idea, especially since it had been a while since I had seen my family and friends.

I spent St. Paddy’s day with my mom in NJ (my dad came eventually after properly celebrating for 5 hours in our favorite Irish pub, the Ear.) My mom made corned beef and cabbage, a perennial Irish American dinner, which I hate. I went out and bought fresh cod and made her add on fried cod, the more traditional Irish-Irish base for fish and chips. We drank Guinness and a little whiskey. Niice.

The next day I traveled in to meet Coleen, who is trying to pull financing together for a film about girls who were abducted by the LRA. In addition to a fictional Hollywood movie, she wants to start a US-based charity, which is where I come in. We first met in Gulu and she’s been asking pretty good questions about what’s already happening and what’s needed on the ground. My motivation may be linked to the promise of meeting Uma and George, but it turns out living in Gulu for 105 years provides one with heaps of knowledge about girls and soldiers…

Coleen was an hour late, because she attempted to take a taxi from midtown to the LES on the sunniest day of the year. Silly visitor from LA. It was rush hour and traffic was ensnared with taxis and spontaneous hordes of bikers and roller bladers, who seemed to come to life with the arrival of the warm air the way sea horses need just a sprinkle of water. I didn’t mind waiting for her. I was in heaven. I was in my town, sitting in a perfectly quaint Italian vinoteca on Ludlow street watching hipsters in their outrages new Spring uniforms pass by. I actually saw a young girl with her hair teased deeply ironically into the exact style of Dolly Parton’s wig in Steel Magnolias. It was happy hour so I ordered the prosecco special and a cheese plate and giggled to myself. Perhaps it was the prosecco or my delight at being home or both. I looked around and thought I saw everyone giggling to themselves. I think we were all provoked by the warm breeze teasing us with the promise of wonderful weather on the horizon.