I just made it back from NYC. When I was little I traveled out there with my grandmother a few times-four I think-but I haven't been out there since I was thirteen. So the idea of visiting the big apple as a grown man was exciting.

My first glimpse of the NYC was Queens. I couldn't see much from the window of the shuttle van but at one point, across the highway I spotted Jamaica Hospital which told me we were in Jamaica Queens. The first thing to come to mind was "I'm from South side Jamaica Queens," as rapped by 50 Cent. If there was one thing I looked forward to about traveling to the East Coast it was traveling to the birth place of hip-hop. After passing through Jamaica Queens and entering Manhattan I didn't see any signs but I did see a skyscraper sized image of a Puff Daddy advertisement. Matter of fact in anticipation of the trip I attempted to book a hip-hop tour.

The first tour I tried to book didn't have enough people, but then I found this one, which seemed more official, but it was booked! So my next step was at least trying to see some of the murals in the city. In particular I wanted to see the one of 2pac with the words "live by the gun, die by the gun" surrounding him. I asked a few people about the mural and no one knew anything about it. One person did tell me where murals of Big Pun and Big L were, but he also let me know that "it's not safe to go there."

Unfortunately my immersion into the birthplace of hip-hop stopped at about the ankles. Besides a little graffiti (which i can see in LA) the only hip-hop I saw or heard was in the bars I visited. The only other expectation I had for the trip was the opportunity to witness its culture. Someone once told me that NYC was a good place for writers because the city is so alive. From the moment I heard that I wasn't sure whether that's a good or bad thing. I can be somewhat quite and reserved so much so that I try to avoid crowded and loud places. So the thought of a whole city screaming in my ear appealed to me as more stressful than inspiring.

My first sight of Manhattan was on a Wednesday morning at 9am-rush hour. I stared out the window attempting to classify the crowds of people. It was impossible to peg anyone person- the shoulders of the double-breasted rubbed with t-shirts and together they all moved in unison, their streagnth and numbers rivaled only by motor vehicle- the two (man and machine) moved amongst each other as if the sidewalks were roads and vice versa. It was all so overwhelming. As the shuttle driver manuevared through pedestrians and other cars like the two shared a common ancestor I couldn't help but think "what the fuck is this?"

It took me a good day to get used to the speed of the city. I'd hesitate to say that Manhattan is an accurate representation of all of NYC because there were no children. The only time I saw children in Manhattan were at the tourist spots such as the top of the Empire State Building. I'd guess that the rest of the children were left at homes outside of Manhattan. On a side note, I don't think I saw one bird in NYC.

It was a cool trip. I wish I could have stayed longer to see and experience more. It'd be cool to stay for a month just to see if I could adapt to the speed of the city. I'd say my favorite thing about the trip was the subway. The thought of living in a place where you can exist without your own personal vehicle is attractive. I also met some cool people:

there was Greg who was staying in the same hotel. Greg is a 29 year-old Army vet from Chicago who works as a contractor for the National Guard traveling the country 300+ days a year. Greg was a cool cat who I not only shared a relationship with hip-hop but had a history that included a grandfather who was a mason, a crushed skull, drug deals gone wrong and a brief stint as an A&R.

there was also the bartender dylan who was writer. dylan moved to NYC from Minnesota. He writes at comedy blog at www.dylansworld.blog.com

And then there was the lady with the 12 year-old daughter that wanted to be a paleontologist. We met them in an ice cream store. She recommended butter pecan and her daughter cookie dough. I had both. Her daughter's mannuerisms, tone of voice and word choice hinted at a maturity that wasn't average, but at the same time still revealed her age. Her mother shared her experience on 9/11. She said how she was scheduled to be in the one of those buildings at 11am. She said how she had many friends in those buildings. She told us how she saw two people covered in so much dust from the collapsed buildings that she couldn't tell their sex until they talked. She said the dust was thick but then she told us how she and the women hugged. I imaged the transfer of dust. She went on to say how she went and stood in a line for a blood bank-a line that traveled around the block. She said she watched as rescuers brought in law enforcement and fire fighters, but "no one else could be saved." So many people were ready to give blood, but the sacrifice wasn't needed. While she talked, her daughter's silence reminded me that she was all but five years-old when it happened. More than half of this girls life has existed after 9/11.