I love Christmas jazz. Right now it's Vince Guarldi's unaccompanied "Christmas Time is Here." I love it's slow, soft, warm cadence. It's like those breezes outside, jaunting along in peaceful and easy steps. It feels like walking in Manhattan in December with a scarf. Outside is stimulating energy- over 8 million people headed over 8 million directions to accomplish over 8 million tasks at the same time. Inside your coat and scarf with an easy stride, there's an impregnable fortress of calm and unity of purpose.
The myth of New York City always manages to charm me. I've visited the city twice for a total of 3.5 days. Safe to say, what I know of the place has only to do with its portrayal through what I've read and what I've seen on television and the movies. There's a good chance I may never make it to the city, and a good chance it's better for me that I don't. But it, among other places, whisper to me irresistibly. I think it has little to do with going out and "experiencing the world." That has generally run its course on me, by now. If you aren't living your life where you are right now, you never will anywhere else. Period.
Instead, it's merely a magic in going to different places. Seeing the eponym of so much of American culture in London was magical. Taking a tea at Russell Square while visiting the British Museum was magical. When I visited New York, I recall walking by buildings that were filming national news broadcasts through the window. That centrality to American culture is magical.
This doesn't mean there isn't is as much, or more, American culture existing and being created outside of New York City. Of course there is. There is certainly more. But much still happens in New York City, and that to me is magical.
That's all. It's not a survival imperative. It's certainly not an unrequited lust. It's simply an interest and a curiosity that I possess for many places. New York City holds a lot of fascination.
And it seems a good setting for Vince Guarldi, sometimes.
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