It's a great place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there

On the way home from the airport last night, I figured out that I've traveled from NYC to LA or vice versa 21 times in the past two years - ten round trip flights and a single one-way when I moved here last March. An unofficial frequent flier, I've become quite adept at navigating the system: I've learned the good airlines, the better seats, the best terminals, and so forth.

Hands down, my favorite airlines are Jet Blue and Song. I like Jet Blue for work, because it flies out of Burbank - a homey, easy-to-navigate airport that is best reached by car service when the cost can be expensed. If I'm footing the bill, I prefer Song from LAX which is more convenient; but otherwise, both are inexpensive, on-time, offer plenty of non-stop flights, and have seat-back satellite TV with at least 25 channels for my in-flight viewing enjoyment.

The TV's are where Jet Blue has a wing up on Song, with nearly 40 channels versus Song's 26. Of the 40, my favorite is VH1 Classic - a substation of VH1 that plays only music videos from the 1970's, 80's, and early 90's. On Tuesday's flight I caught gems from REO Speedwagon, Poison, Eric Carmen, De La Soul. Then LL Cool J came on with "Going Back to Cali", and I mentally thought, "Ooh, this will make a good title for my return blog post," seeing as I am always so exited to leave New York and well, head back to Cali. But strangely, this trip wasn't like that.

Maybe I was just really excited to see my friends, or maybe I was too-eagerly looking forward to my press event, but I arrived in New York oddly manic, admiring the city skyline like a tourist as the sun set behind the Hudson, taking note of how low the clouds seemed and how the air hinted of a possible snowfall. Sure, I also noticed how gray the sky was and how dirty the street signs were, but I practically had a skip in my step as I walked the seven blocks to meet my friends for dinner. Grinning like the village (or in this case, midtown) idiot, I actually caught myself smiling at strangers.

I think my heart physically ached at dinner, and when they asked if I would ever move back, I really tried to think about it. I actually considered what it would be like to live that life again - a year removed, the travel itch scratched. I thought about re-connecting with a recent job opportunity and exploring the possibility of taking it. I did miss the easy familiarity of the city streets - hailing cabs, meeting on the corner, knowing where to find the closest Starbucks. Of course, those city streets were exactly what caused me to flee - sidewalks crowded with annoying pedestrians, damning grates that swallowed every high heel, unfortunate weather affecting every outfit, every hairstyle, and practically every daily decision because there is no escaping it on the city streets of New York.

And so the answer is, unfortunately, still no, I'm just not ready. As if to prove my point:

After my event yesterday, I picked up a smoothie for lunch and walked back to the hotel. Behind me was one of those rehabilitated drug addicts in the bright blue city uniform, his garbage-collecting path following mine up Lexington Avenue. I couldn't pass the wide-ass in front of me walking hand-in-hand with her obese child, so for six blocks I walked with him behind me, his stinking, trash-filled motorized cart going vrrm VRRM, vrrm VRRM. As we approached the corner of Lex and 57th, roadwork caused every car in the intersection to pass over a metal lid, vrrm SLAM, vrrm SLAM, vrrm SLAM. The obese kid starting whining, then screaming.

Quite possibly the longest New York minute of my life, I had a sudden urge to push the obese woman and her kid into oncoming traffic VRRM! SLAM! SCREECH!, and remembered why I needed to move to LA.