Bad Moody Blues

Why is it that whenever I'm sitting around feeling sorry for myself I insist upon playing really depressing love songs. I just made the most heart wrenching playlist. For Pete's sake, what the hell am I thinking? And who the hell is Pete, and is he single?

The saddest part is I keep crooning along with the music, much to the dismay -- and utter annoyance -- of my daughter, who is now trying to recover from a harrowing week of finals. But no amount of subtle throat clearing and not so subtle door slamming seems to have an impact on my solitary sing-along. Frankly, I think I sound damn good -- almost as good as I do in the shower. I just can't figure out why the dogs have their heads buried under the couch cushions. They must be cold.

And with good reason. I think it's about one hundred below zero outside, the kind of day that makes even upbeat folks want to stay inside. Other than driving my daughter to and picking her up from her last final, and swinging through Dunkin Donuts to get some munchkins for the day's nourishment, I've managed to remain shut in all day. After a couple of good naps and a few snacks, there was nothing left to do but scan itunes for some thoroughly demoralizing melodies.

Not surprisingly, most of the tunes I've chosen are being belted out by female country singers, with one very notable exception: a little known piece sung by Art Garfunkel called Second Avenue. Not to worry, it's about loneliness and lost love -- don't want you to think I'm snapping out of it -- but it's set on an overpopulated street in an overpopulated building right smack in the middle of overpopulated New York City. Loneliness might not sound so appealing, but solitude in the midst of a crowd is one of the things I miss most about the big city.

In a week, I'll be in New York with my kids to attend the surprise party for my mother which is no longer a surprise. But because it was supposed to be a surprise and she wasn't supposed to see us until dinner, I booked a hotel room for me and my daughters in the heart of Manhattan. (My son is lucky; the city is his college campus.) I was thrilled for the excuse; we will have the rare opportunity to enjoy the bustle and not have to commute back and forth from my mom's apartment in the hybrid city-burb of Brooklyn. My kids all share my love of big cities, and we are looking forward to the opportunity to get lost, together, in the wilds of the Big Apple.

I plan to be out of my forlorn and lonely funk by then, and will make a playlist for the trip. A little Frank Sinatra, maybe, to start spreading the news of our arrival (since the surprise has already been ruined), and some Billy Joel to keep me in that fantastic state of mind that is, and can only be, New York.