Tomorrow, we are U.S.A. bound, and I’m surprised to note that I haven’t had much homesickness in the six months I’ve been in London. I’ve been shockingly busy, and all this has just felt like an island of time isolated from fear or longing. Even so. . .
Three Things I miss about the U.S. of A.:
Seriously, if I could, I think I would marry WNYC. The ceremony would be the bomb: Jonathan Schwartz would be the DJ, Leonard Lopate would be the crazy uncle who would talk some poor young girl’s ear off, and most importantly Tekserve would provide iPads as party favors.
When I live in Jersey, pizza exhausts me. Here, good pizza is like a siren song of a dream you overheard someone else talking about. I can’t wait for pizza–both classic (to be shared with friends and a pitcher of beer) and baked in a magic oven that infuses everything it takes in with magic deliciousness.
3. The New Yorker
Some friends visited us this fall and as a thank-you gift, they sent a pile of old New Yorkers to us. I don’t want to think about the postage they paid, but considering that I read one of the last issues from the stash even though it was falling apart (and really just a pile of paper, rather than a magazine) on the tube yesterday, it was postage well spent.
Three Things I Haven’t Done in Six Months:
1. Drive a car.
2. Curl my hair.
3. Use a dishwasher or a clothes dryer.
Two Final Stats:
Number of Projects I Meant to Complete While In London That I Did Not: 4
Amount of Regret I Have Over This Lack of Accomplishment (on a scale of 1-10): 0