Despite living in New York for some fifteen years now, and despite the iconic nature of this particular attraction, I had never been on — nor indeed even seen — the Roosevelt Island Tram. Somehow, despite countless trips up and down the FDR Drive and occasional trips back and forth across the Queensboro Bridge, I never once caught a glimpse of that bright red skytram being tugged across the East River on suspended cables. It could possibly be because I was, you know, driving, and if you’ve ever been in that particular part of town you know that it does not usually work out very well to distract oneself from the road. Eventually though, and probably after staying up late watching Nighthawks yet again, it was determined that enough was enough. High time to get suspended high above the river en route to a river island about which I know very little and which is visited rarely by anyone who does not live there.
“There must be a few hundred men who are fairly behind the scenes of the Burma War—one of the least known and appreciated of any of our little affairs. The Pegu Club seemed to be full of men on their way up or down, and the conversation was but an echo of the murmur of conquest far away to the north.”
I am a contradiction in that I crave variety and new experiences yet am also prone to becoming a creature of habit. As I get older, the tendency to simply go with what I know or stay at home for the night is getting increasingly powerful. In these moments, the dandy rakehell in me must furiously wave a handsome silk handkerchief in my face until I admit that lying prone on the couch, eating Cheerios straight out of the box is not what’s going to make for an interesting story in the future. And as I have perhaps said before. I pay to live in New York. If I was going to spend my free time sitting around at home, I’d choose to do it in a much cheaper city.